Redemption of the Werewolf
by Mercurie
Summary: Lupin has seven days to save Ginny's life, and only Draco Malfoy can help him. The result is a quid pro quo that reveals unpleasant truths and can leave neither man unchanged. DracoGinny, LupinOC. Now complete!
1. Day One

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Ginny Weasley are property of J.K. Rowling. This is an unauthorized fiction. I am not receiving money for this fiction.

A/N: Harry Potter meets Silence of the Lambs meets film noir. This is my second HP fic, I usually write for the LotR fandom. Hope it's enjoyable! Oh yeah, ignore the fake "Latin" in the spell names (give me a break, I studied Elvish!). 

DAY 1

          _"Where did they find him?"_

_          "Remus, you know I can't tell you that."_

_          "Sirius –"_

_          "Don't 'Sirius' me. I'd pour out every last detail if I could, but I can't. It isn't my decision."_

_          "Alright, alright, I'll go at it blind, then."_

_          "Not quite blind. This is all strictly off the record – you have leave to use whatever methods necessary."_

_          "I'm not going to torture the kid, if that's what you're suggesting."_

_          "You call one of the most infamous Deatheaters of our times a kid?"_

_          "That's what he is."_

_          "Somehow I can't share your sympathy."_

_          "Maybe I have an affinity. I know what it's like to live in the shadow of evil."_

_          "Yeah, but you're not a traitorous, murdering git. He deserves what he'll get, and much worse besides."_

_          "Well, he won't get it from me. I'm not going to break him, even for the Ministry of Magic. If it takes longer to get the information, so be it."_

_          "Don't take too long. Ginny Weasley's life is at stake."_

_          "What - ?"_

_          "You didn't know? She disappeared from Hogwarts two days ago. The same day this guy was picked up. He knows something, or I'm a Muggle."_

_          "That changes things."_

_          "I thought you might say that. There isn't much room left for conscience, is there?"_

_          "There has to be. He deserves a chance."_

_          "Maybe you're right. Good luck, Moony."_

***************************************************************

          One wouldn't have expected Remus Lupin to be an interrogator anymore than one would expect him to be a werewolf. But he was both, and the one quality perhaps honed his skills as the other. As he sometimes said himself, living a double life gave him double insight – and it was insight and intelligence that counted on his job.

          He would need a good measure of both this time, he thought as he closed the door behind him and surveyed the room. It was fairly large, but empty except for a table and two chairs in the centre. There were no windows, and only the one door. He guessed they were underground, but there was no way to know for sure; the location of this place was secret. Only Sirius Black, former Auror and convict, now head of this branch of the Magical Intelligence Agency, could have told him that. Not that he ever would, Lupin reflected wryly as his gaze came to rest on the other person in the room.

          The object of his attention was seated on one of the two chairs, across the table from him: a wiry towhead, sporting two pale hawk eyes and a sceptical twist to his mouth. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, which must have been a blow to his pride, and a wand was conspicuously missing from the picture.

          "Draco Malfoy," Lupin said, pulling the second chair up to the table and sitting down.

          "Professor Lupin," Malfoy said, "I thought you moonlighted as a wolf, not a pig."

          "And I thought you were a student, not a Deatheater," Lupin replied.

          Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "That's funny," he said, "Everyone else knew I would be a Deatheater even before I was one."

          Looking at him, Lupin could believe it. Despite his boyish face, Malfoy's contemptuous stare was about as young as the Pantheon. He radiated arrogance, even here, as a captive of his enemies. And yet, Lupin could not bring himself to hate the kid, despite his infamous deeds. Two years ago, Draco Malfoy had nearly delivered the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry into the hands of the newly returned Lord Voldemort. Malfoy had escaped that time, but the crime had not been forgotten. Lupin doubted that Malfoy would still be alive if it hadn't been for the information in his head – information protected by an Obstaculus charm, unbreakable by either truth serum or spell, as had been unhappily established. That knowledge could only be given up willingly by the subject. Most other interrogators would probably have resorted to drastic measures immediately, utilizing every means possible to make Malfoy "willing." But Lupin was convinced that such an attempt would be useless in this case. Besides, he didn't have the stomach for it. 

          "You're wasting your time," Malfoy said, stretching his arms out in front of him as if to show off the Dark Mark tattooed onto his white flesh.

          "I haven't said anything yet," Lupin pointed out.

          "Don't bother starting. I know the drill."

          Anyone would have thought the kid had been in this situation dozens of times before. Then again, maybe he had – Lupin wouldn't have ruled out the possibility offhand.

          "I'm here with an offer from the Ministry of Magic," he said. Privately he doubted that Malfoy gave a leprechaun's Galleon about the Ministry, but at least it would get a conversation started.

          "You are subject to sentence of death for treachery of the highest degree under the laws and ordinances of the Ministry," he said, "But the Minister is willing to spare your life – if you will reveal the location of Voldemort's headquarters, as well as everything you know about Deatheater movements. On top of that, everything concerning the abduction of Virginia Weasley two days ago."

          "It must be demeaning to be the Ministry's messenger boy," Malfoy yawned dismissively, "Or messenger werewolf, I should say. Fetch, Laddie! Roll over! Pump the scary Deatheater for us, Laddie!"

          "Do you really think that's witty?" Lupin asked dryly.

          "I think you're mighty dense, to come in here and ask a bunch of idiot questions like that."

          "Oh, those aren't my own questions. I have a whole different list. Interested?"

          "Fire away," Malfoy said, to Lupin's mild surprise. Well, he wasn't about to miss the opportunity.

          "Why did you become a Deatheater? When? What did they promise you in return? What did it take to make you betray Hogwarts? How did you kill your mother?"

          Malfoy stared at him, momentarily devoid of composure. Lupin thought he saw something flicker in those eyes – fear? Something else? Then Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and his thin lips compressed to an even thinner line.

          "Well, well, Professor," he said, "You have more nerve than I thought. Must be the werewolf talking." He paused for a moment. "I didn't kill my mother," he said finally, in a tone as flat as the surface of a glacier. 

          Lupin allowed himself a disbelieving laugh. "Oh? Then who did?"

          Malfoy glared at him. "No one," he said, "She's alive."

          "You'll have a hard time convincing anyone of that," Lupin said, "Considering that her body is several feet underground and probably quite decayed by now."

          "You wouldn't find Narcissa Malfoy there."

          "Then where would I find her?"

          But Malfoy shook his head. "I don't talk for nothing," he said, "You pay for every word that comes out of my mouth."

          "Pay with what?"

          "Nothing much – yet," Malfoy smirked, "I want answers. It's awfully boring sitting around here for hours, and you interest me. For every question you ask, I get one as well. A _personal_ question. And only the truth goes."

          "Quid pro quo," Lupin murmured, "I hardly expected you to be a philosopher – even if a typically cynical one..."

          "We aren't always what we look like," Malfoy answered coolly. 

          "That remains to be seen."

          For a moment neither of them spoke. Malfoy's delicate hands twitched slightly where they lay on the tabletop. Lupin sat as serenely as a Buddhist statue. One could have heard a wand drop in the room. But in the end it was the younger man who spoke first.

          "Alright," he said, "What are you waiting for? Ask something."

          "I already have," Lupin answered, "About ten questions. Take your pick and answer."

          "Fine," said Malfoy, narrowing his eyes, "So you want to know about my mother."

          In truth this interested Lupin the least of all, but he knew it would be wiser to play along until he could turn the conversation to more urgent matters. And obviously the issue was important to Malfoy; he might be able to learn something valuable about the boy.

          "You say she's not dead," he said.

          "That's right. The grave is empty. The body was a conjuration – a tricky version of the Malgraphicon spell, I'm sure you know the basics. It held for about a day after the funeral. If you were to dig up the coffin, you wouldn't find so much as a bone."

          "And everyone assumed either you or Lucius had killed her..."

          Malfoy howled with laughter. "He kill her?" he repeated sarcastically, "When heaven burns! My father could never raise a finger against her – _could _not. She controls him to the last shivering ounce of his puny soul. If he has one, that is."

          Lupin frowned. "I don't understand," he said.

          Malfoy leaned confidentially across the table. He seemed to be enjoying himself perversely; his eyes sparkled with secret laughter as if at some grotesque private joke. "Have you ever heard of the Imperius Ecstatus curse?"

          Lupin repressed a shudder of disgust. "A witch or wizard seduces a subject... at the moment of orgasm, he or she lays a special form of the Imperius curse on the victim. This form of the curse can never be broken or even resisted, and the victim can be controlled without words – telepathically, so to speak. But you don't mean to say..." He trailed off, feeling slightly nauseated with disgust.

          "... that is how she got him to marry her. And all the rest, of course, the Deatheater business. My poor fool of a father never stood a chance. She was the clever one, she was the schemer all along." 

          "And she passed it all on to you," Lupin remarked, "Then retired to let you run things for her."

          "Not quite. When my... ploy at Hogwarts failed, she decided to disappear rather than face the embarrassing questions that might follow. It didn't suit her to admit openly to being a follower of Voldemort's. She had other plans; dying left her free to put them into action without interference."

          "What plans? Where is she now?"

          Malfoy smirked. "I think I've said about enough," he said, "It's your turn."

          "Fair enough," Lupin replied, unruffled, "Ask away, if you think you can learn anything from me."

          "I've already learned more than you believe. Now then," Malfoy considered for a moment, "... Have you ever killed anyone?"

          Lupin almost snorted in amusement. Did Malfoy think he could trap him with psychological nonsense? Maybe this was just the kid's sadistic idea of a game. Or was there another, subtler intent behind the question?

          "Yes," he answered calmly. Malfoy raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Lupin volunteered no further information. He was curious as to what Malfoy would ask next; questions, in this case, could be almost as revealing as answers.

          "Who was it?" Malfoy asked finally.

          "No one you know. A woman. It was a long time ago."

          Malfoy's eyes glittered with wicked amusement. "A lover?"

          "A friend," Lupin replied without batting an eyelash. Malfoy's guess had been correct, but Lupin was not fool enough to give the boy that kind of hold over him, and he was not too uptight to lie if necessary. Besides, the memory was... painful. He should have expected as much, that a person like Malfoy would sniff out anyone's weak points, given the chance. But he was convinced that he could win this game yet; and if he did, he might save more than one life. 

          "How did it happen?" Malfoy asked.

          Lupin watched Malfoy's face intently. The young towhead seemed... expectant. Lupin had the feeling that his words were like a potion to the kid, a nectar of oblivion, something he had to hear. There was something the boy wanted... it occurred to Lupin that Malfoy had doubtless had quite a bit of experience with killing. It was an odd way to bond with a subject, but... he decided, on a hunch, to tell the truth.

          "It was after I had graduated from Hogwarts," he said, "The girl was a friend of mine from the school. We were very close. After the graduation, we both spent a couple of weeks in Hogsmeade. One night... it was the full moon. I went to the Shrieking Shack, where I could face the change and become a werewolf without endangering anyone. She... she followed me. In those days there was no potion that allowed me to keep my mind in the werewolf form. I never knew what happened until the sun rose and I awoke in human form to find her bloodied body beside me."

          Malfoy took the nightmare story as a matter of course. "Well, well," he said, "So you murdered your little friend. I do believe you're in need of redemption almost as much as I am."

          Lupin shrugged. "At least I didn't try to betray my entire school to Voldemort."

          Malfoy flushed bright red. "Don't lecture me," he hissed, "You don't know a thing about that; no one does. Don't think you can guess at the Dark Lord's motives, or... or..."

          "Or your mother's?" Lupin suggested nonchalantly. 

          For a moment he thought Malfoy would physically attack him. He was surprised himself at the reaction his words had provoked; Malfoy's fists were clenched white on the table, and his eyes glared daggers. Obviously he had struck a nerve somehow, but he wasn't sure how or why. What did Narcissa Malfoy have to do with all this? Had she prodded her son to take the frightful actions that nearly delivered Hogwarts to Voldemort? It wouldn't surprise him... but why did Malfoy find the mention of the idea so unbearable? Did the boy have a conscience after all? The thought seemed vaguely ridiculous. And yet, he could not rule it out as impossible. Sirius had always said that he was too soft-hearted for this job... but as he watched Malfoy's pale young face, Lupin felt sure that the mind behind was far more complicated than a mere clockwork that only parroted Voldemort's evil. If only he had the time, this boy might still be redeemed. But he didn't have time, not with Ginny Weasley's life at stake.

          "Alright," he said, careful to conceal his thoughts, "Maybe I don't know everything. But I'm only too happy to listen to you, since you have all the answers."

          "No," said Malfoy, mastering himself somewhat, "You can come back tomorrow. Tell me a nice story about your murdered lover, and maybe I'll talk some more."

          Tomorrow was too late. Lupin wasn't about to wait that long, not if he could help it. He decided to risk a more direct question.

          "I'll go if you tell me how to find Ginny Weasley."

          Instantly, he knew he had made a mistake. Malfoy's satisfied grin was only too contemptuous. 

          "Still hung up over the little redhead?" the smooth-faced Deatheater crowed, "And I'd begun to believe you had more sense."

          Lupin silently cursed his overeagerness. He had been too hasty; the chances that Malfoy would tell him anything now were minimal. Everything he had accomplished had fallen to ruin: any signs of uncertainty on Malfoy's part were gone, and the slick, confident minion had returned.

          "I'll tell you one thing," Malfoy said almost gleefully, "If you don't find her in the next seven days, don't bother looking."

          Lupin couldn't help slamming the door in frustration when he left.

A/N: Well, what do you think? Is Draco evil? Can Lupin redeem him? Can he save Ginny? Will the author be able to resist describing Draco in many sexy poses in the coming chapters? Why is Draco so sexy, anyway? And why won't he go out with me? He never answers his message machine... *sniff* Little twerp... maybe I'll call Moony next time... heh heh... 


	2. Demons

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, etc. are property of J.K. Rowling. This is an unauthorized fiction. I am not receiving money for this fiction.

A/N: Thank you to my kind reviewers! Draco and Moony are my favourite characters as well – hence this fic. The two of them are not going to remain shut up in the interrogation room for the whole story, in case anyone's wondering, but for now it's a one-on-one. Enjoy the next chapter!

DEMONS

_          "Seven days... are you sure he said seven?"_

_          "Positive."_

_          "Only seven?"_

_          "Yes, only seven!"_

_          "That's not enough time! We don't know where she is! And if – no, when we find out, we still have to plan a rescue, set up a team, and, and..."_

_          "Don't I know it, Padfoot."_

_          "Do you really? We need more information, Remus, and quickly. I hate to say it, but... the Cruciatus curse – "_

_          "No!"_

_          " – is our best chance at saving an innocent, no matter your objections to it. Do you consider Ginny's life worth sparing a Deatheater some well-deserved pain?"_

_          "Every life has value. I won't make a decision like that lightly."_

_          "I'm not asking you to make it lightly, just to make it."_

_          "Come on, Padfoot! You didn't really expect him to talk on the first day – no one ever does! I thought you knew more about the job than that. Just give me more time!"_

_          "Time... the one thing we're always short of. Alright. I suppose if anyone can do it, you can. Just do it quickly."_

_          "I don't need any prompting... this is a delicate situation, that's all. I'd swear he isn't all bad, I really would."_

_          "No, he's not all bad. He's pure, undiluted evil. It's completely different."_

_"Not funny. No one is evil."_

_"Right. Sure. Your faith in people never ceases to amaze me. But if you can prove it and save Malfoy's soul along with Ginny's life, I'll mix you up one of Sirius' Serious Shockers. Hell, I'll make it two."_

_"Oh, now I feel really motivated..."_

_"OK, just leave the sarcasm to me from now on, it doesn't suit you. Here we are. On to the sea, Mahatma! Six days left! No pressure or anything..."_

_"Ha!"_

************************************************************************************

          The smile faded from Lupin's face as soon as he caught sight of Malfoy. It was the same room, the same table and chairs, without additions or removals – boredom was supposed to soften up the subject and induce him to spill the beans sooner. But of course, the subject wasn't usually Draco Malfoy. 

          It was actually an impressive feat of engineering, Lupin reflected as he examined the ingenious structure Malfoy had built. And all constructed completely without magic. The kid would have made a good architect. As long as he didn't take it into his head to invent buildings that collapsed on the unsuspecting inhabitants' heads. 

          Malfoy had set both chairs onto the table, one at each end. In between, he had somehow suspended his coat, shirt, and trousers to form a hammock. He lay unconcernedly in his home-made recline, hands behind his head, eyes closed angelically, clad in only his black boxer shorts. One would have thought he was asleep, except for the air of silent laughter in the room. When the door shut with a soft snick behind Lupin, Malfoy opened his eyes to glittering slits. The corners of his mouth curled slightly, and his body shifted the tiniest bit on his makeshift hammock.

          "Sorry. It's a bit hot in here," he said.

          Lupin wondered whether he should laugh, cry, or call in a psychiatrist immediately. In the end, he decided to clear up matters himself. It almost amused him that the kid thought he could play head games with him like this. Lupin was, after all, a werewolf – the dangers of humanity were paltry compared to what he had to deal with on a monthly basis. 

          He let his gaze travel consideringly over Malfoy's half-naked body. Even if he had been the sort, he would hardly have found this skinny kid attractive. Apparently the Deatheater life was far from glamorous. Come to think of it, it could hardly pay well, except in power and blood. After an appropriate length of time, he let out a long, slow breath.

          "Amazing," he said, "You look just like your father."

          Malfoy's mouth dropped open and he sat up with a jerk – only to bring the whole delicately arranged structure tumbling down. Both chairs tipped off the table as he came crashing onto it, ending up tangled in his own clothing like a bride in her wedding veil. He cursed, trying to free his restrained limbs. 

          "What in the bloody – " Lupin winced at the surprising obscenities flowing effortlessly out of the kid's mouth, " – do you mean, my father? I swear, if you..."

          Lupin sighed and pulled out his wand. "_Accio_, chair!" he murmured, and the chair he had pointed at flew obediently to his side. He sat down calmly, tucking his wand back into his robes. 

          After a moment, Malfoy ceased his frustrated struggles and just glared at him. "Must I ask?" he hissed, "What prompted that obscene comment?"

          Lupin couldn't help himself; he had to laugh. "You're one to talk about obscene!" he remarked, "But if it will put your mind at ease, I have never had the dubious honour of seeing Lucius in a similar position. Nor would I want to, I might add. But I thought I should stop this charade before you embarrassed yourself further. Nice hammock, by the way."

          "Thank you," Malfoy said, sitting up and slipping back into his clothing as if nothing had happened, "I should have known you would be completely passionless. It would be a necessary survival trait, considering that no woman could stand a man who dresses like you anyway. Neither could a man, for that matter."

          "If you're that desperate to get out of here," Lupin said, watching Malfoy as he settled himself cross-legged on the tabletop, "I can offer you a much better way. If you will answer all my questions truthfully, I can arrange a refuge for you outside of a conventional prison. Under the Hermiculus charm, of course, but its a good deal better than the equivalent of a new Azkaban."

          "The Hermiculus curse, you mean?" Malfoy sneered, "Well, that's exactly what I want – to be confined to a four-acre space under my own private bubble for the rest of my life! What makes you think I want to go to prison, anyway?"

          "You already are in prison," Lupin pointed out patiently, "And don't think you're going to get out – except by dying – with the kind of joke you just tried to play. I'm offering you a lot more than anyone else would."

          Malfoy stared at him seriously, tiny wrinkles of thought marring his pale forehead. "You are, at that," he mumbled, "I wonder why? Is your conscience biting you, wolfie? And you're biting back? Does being kind to me make up for all the other things, for the murders and secrets and lies?"

          "I have never been party to a murder," Lupin said icily, "And if I have ever lied or kept a secret, it was for the general good." The words felt weak in his mouth, and he expected Malfoy to laugh and shoot a stinging retort at him. But he was wrong this time.

          "I'm sure that's true," the Deatheater said morosely, "You would be the type. How fascinating. Remus Lupin... you should have heard my father complain when you took up that teaching post at Hogwarts. He remembered you all too well from his own days there. Remus Lupin, the intelligent, the mature, the humane, the good-hearted. The perfect angel, the _saint_, who never did anything wrong, who didn't know the _meaning_ of the words "wrong" or "immoral" or... "evil." Everyone loved you. And all the while," he laughed maliciously, "That pure facade concealed the heart of a blood-thirsty demon. The irony is beautiful, don't you think?"

          Lupin could feel the cold sweat on his palms. This was not going the way it was meant to. And yet... he had never had a tougher case, or a more important one. Perhaps it was only appropriate that this one time, he had to give before he could receive. One couldn't tame a horse with a whip after all – only with trust and love. And they had so much in common, though only he could see it, and even he could only admit the extent of it secretly to himself. 

          "Irony?" he said softly, "What makes you say that? You're smart, Draco, but not as smart as you think. What do you think made me act so carefully polite all the time? Where do you think all that feeling came from? Ordinary people don't need to make sure their every act is moral... but when you're a werewolf, you never know whether you're doing something because of your human side, or your demon side. That demon is inside you, and the only way to fight it is to _become its opposite._"

          Malfoy stared at him. Somehow, he looked different; all traces of the Deatheater had disappeared. A young man sat there, looking confused and mildly desperate. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then looked down at his hands. 

          "And what if the demon is too strong? What if you can't fight it?"

          Lupin snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. You can always fight it. It's only a part of you, and you rule yourself, don't you?"

          In a flash, the glimpse of the human boy had vanished, and the Deatheater was back. "Does anyone really?" Malfoy smirked sarcastically, "Here you are, yipping and turning flips for your superiors. And here I am, stuck listening to you do it."

          "I'm only too happy to listen to you instead. Where's Ginny?"

          Malfoy laughed snidely. "Bold, but no cigar," he said, "We have an agreement, remember? _Quid pro quo._ You asked first last time; it's my turn today."

          Lupin sighed. He had been close to something, of that he was sure. But somehow Malfoy had pulled away at the last minute, and they were back on the slow track. Still, light was beginning to shine through the chinks; he could see more, understand more than he had before. Even the slow track moved, after all. Perhaps he could find a way to turn the questions to his advantage. He hoped so, anyway.

          "Fair enough," he said, "Ask whatever you like."

          "Tell me more about her. You know who I mean – what was her name, anyway?"

          Lupin hesitated, but he couldn't turn back now. It was time to throw out the bait, and hope his prey would come sniffing around after it. But if only he weren't the bait himself...

"Chryseis." 

It came out as a whisper. The name burned his mouth. As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back; a door opened somewhere in his mind, and memories slipped through, shrouded in grey, mourning the past. In a minute he would see her face; mentally, he began to count by twos, letting the numbers block out the memory.

          "What does that mean?" Malfoy frowned, "It sounds familiar."

          "'The golden one,'" Lupin said, making no further comment. In his mind's eye, he saw the golden rays of the sun, filtering tentatively through the grimy windows of the Shrieking Shack. They stretched languorously across the floor, rubbing themselves against the dusty wood unabashedly, until the pure light came to rest on the pale face of a woman named Chryseis. A face that was terribly, unbelievably, unfairly and irrevocably still. 

          "Funny, I'm sure I've heard it before. Not that it makes the least bit of difference," Malfoy rambled on mercilessly, "So then, I just want to know one thing. What was your first thought? When you saw her, I mean – what was the first thought that crossed your mind?"

          "Why do you ask?" Lupin said. His voice was as calm as ever, he knew. He wasn't one of the best interrogators in the England for nothing.

          "I want to know if the demon or the human spoke first."

          The picture shifted subtly in Lupin's mind. No, Malfoy wasn't attempting to torture him – none of this farce was about him at all. It was about Draco Malfoy, purely and simply. Was it possible that the boy was actually trying to pull himself out of the dark alleyway that had been his life thus far? If it were himself in this situation, how would he go about it? Malfoy couldn't turn to his family or his former associates, and everyone else hated and feared him, with good reason. Lupin wished fervently that Sirius had told him where exactly the agents of the Ministry had found Malfoy. How had the boy come to be there? And why, why now? If Draco had left the Deatheaters on purpose... to end here... and be confronted with himself, the one man who had experienced both sides of that faded moral line. Had it been consciously done? Did Draco know himself what he was doing? Or was he reading too much into a simple question, the amusement of a cruel and petty mind?

          He had no answers. Anything was possible. It even occurred to him that the whole thing could be a ploy, and that Malfoy had been sent to learn what he could from the MIA and would disappear with the knowledge later. That, at least, seemed unlikely – it was not easy to get away from Sirius once you were in his clutches, as Lupin well knew. 

          In the end he was as clueless as ever, but he had decided on one thing, at least. 

          "'_Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd,'_" he said. 

          "What?" Malfoy asked half-contemptuously.

          "That's what I thought when I saw her. I'll leave you to decide if it was demon or human. Though I don't know many demons that have read Shakespeare."

          "And then what? What did you say afterwards?"

          "Nothing. Why would I speak? I was alone, after all, and hardly in the habit of talking to myself. I went to Hogsmeade for the authorities; they took the body away. I didn't go to the funeral."

          "Why not?"

          "It was on the evening of the next full moon."

          "Oh. Well, that would explain things. Just one more thing..."

          "No," Lupin said, determined to get something out of this day's session or be damned, "I answered your question. Now you answer mine. That's our deal, remember."

          Malfoy shrugged and stretched his legs out where he sat on the tabletop. He shook his head back and forth, cracking his neck, then popped his knuckles. "Ask away, wolfie," he said after this procedure.

          "Where is Ginny?"

          Malfoy threw back his head and laughed. His shoulders shook with unrestrained mirth; he seemed genuinely amused. "Throwing subtlety out the window, are we?" he said, "Well, I can play a card or too as well. She's with Voldemort. And my mother."

          "We guessed that much," Lupin said irritably, "But _where, _Malfoy, _where are they?"_

          Malfoy grinned at him insolently, looking perfectly pleased with himself. "In the most obvious place, of course. Azkaban, where else?"

          "That's a lie and you know it," Lupin said flatly, "We know Voldemort had his headquarters there for a while, but not anymore. Azkaban was razed to the ground the year after you played double agent at Hogwarts. The Ministry's people have been through the place at least a dozen times – up, down, around, and underground. There's nothing there, not so much as a senile Dementor." 

          Malfoy shrugged. "If that's how you want it, I won't argue with you. But I thought you wanted questions answered?"

          "I want them answered truthfully. That was in the rules, wasn't it? The rules you made yourself, I might add."

          "Getting a bit bitter, are we? I can't help it if you don't want to listen to me," Malfoy looked gleeful, "Just remember, you'll have no one but yourself to blame when the poor Weasley girl turns up stone dead six days from now."

          Lupin ground his teeth. He knew Ginny well – he and Sirius were closely acquainted with the Weasley family. They were the best-hearted people he knew, and thinking of their pretty, innocent, impishly grinning redhead of a daughter among Voldemort's Deatheaters made his skin crawl. It never failed to amaze him how anyone, even Voldemort, could harm someone so obviously innocent, and so innocently charming. But then, Voldemort was fully capable of attacking young couples with their newborn children... 

          "You're not turning out to be very successful at exorcising your demon," he said aloud.

          Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" he hissed, "I'm not - "

          "Oh, yes, you are. Don't play the I'm-so-evil-nothing-can-touch-me game with me. You're not as opaque as you think, and I'm fairly good at seeing through a put-on. You're frightened, that's all, and you've decided to run from it." Lupin wondered briefly where all this was coming from; but he did not seem able to shut his own mouth. "You're running from Voldemort, your mother, the Deatheaters, yourself – everything. But you can't run from that demon, not as long as you keep acting like this. Goodness comes from inside, and it starts with helping people."

          "_'Goodness comes from inside_,'" Malfoy mimicked rudely in a high falsetto, "Sheesh, you sound like my kindergarten teacher. Or like she used to. I think we killed her at one point too... not by means of werewolf, though. It must have been awful for poor little Chryseis, or whatever her name was. But not as awful as it was for you. You've dug yourself into a moral shell where no one can reach you, and now you sit there preening yourself and preaching at everyone who doesn't kiss your feet. You've no idea what _real_ life is like anymore. I'm the frightened one? Ha! You're frightened of your own shadow, and even more frightened that other people will see it. What if your friends knew about those killer urges?"

          Suddenly, Lupin didn't think he could take another moment of this. Malfoy's needling had gotten to him. The thought made him angry, but he tried to quench the feeling. Anger only led to more trouble, and he couldn't afford to alienate the boy. Maybe if Malfoy thought he had won this round he would be more cooperate. In any case, Lupin wasn't about to stay in that room a second longer.

          Still, he could not resist a final retort before he left.

          "At least I have friends to care about," he said, "Which is more than you can claim."

          Outside, he leaned his forehead against the corridor wall. It felt cool and soothing, a relief for his feverish mind. He wanted to sleep, or even better, go on a very long vacation. But there was no time for that, no time at all. Lupin almost groaned. He still wasn't any closer to finding Ginny. Sirius was going to have a fit.    

* _"On to the sea, Mahatma"_ – Mahatma Gandhi led the Indian people to independence by means of non-violent passive resistance. On one occasion, he directed thousands of people on a march to the sea to manufacture salt as a protest against salt taxes. The goal was to complete the entire procedure without violence. It was considered foolish and impossible by many, and yet succeeded.            

* _Chryseis_ – a Greek name I got from a book about the fall of Troy. Although I don't speak Greek (it's just Greek to me, har har), this allegedly does mean "the golden one."

* _"Nymph, in thy..."_ – quote from the end of Hamlet's famous speech (To be or not to be)

A/N: This is not going to turn into a slash fic, so I hope no one got that impression. The hammock thing was just Draco trying to get under Lupin's skin, unsuccessfully. If this gets boring at any time or the characters act OOC, please inform me! I aim to entertain. :) 


	3. Casting the Die

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, etc. are property of J.K. Rowling. This is an unauthorized fiction. I am not receiving money for this fiction. Some things mentioned (Department of Mysteries, Unspeakables, etc.) are part of a Harry Potter fanon not created by me. Unfortunately, I'm not sure where this stuff actually originated, so I can't accord credit... Just rest assured that it wasn't my feverish brain that came up with it!

CASTING THE DIE

          _"He's getting to you."_

_          "What makes you say that?"_

_          "For one thing, I put salt in your coffee this morning and you didn't even notice."_

_          "Really? No wonder it tasted like one of Snape's potions gone wrong..."_

_          "Snape's bloody concoctions always taste like that. But that's beside the point. What I mean is... this was a bad idea from the start. You're too close to the subject."_

_          "I don't know what you're talking about."_

_          "Oh yes, you do, Moony. You could never hide anything from me anyway, and this is just plain obvious. Every time you look at him you see – "_

_          "Don't say it."_

_          "It's true whether I say it or not. The similarities are striking, I'll admit. No one will hold it against you if you quit now. Or if they do, I'll put them on stamp-licking duty until they beg for mercy."_

_          "There's no need for your creative reprimands. I haven't the slightest intention of quitting. Maybe you're right, maybe I do see her when I look at him. But that doesn't impede my professionalism."_

_          "My ass it doesn't... I'm only suggesting you take some time off, or leave this case to someone else. You can't go in tomorrow night anyway, it's the full moon."_

_          "I can still talk to him today, can't I?"_

_          "Just let me put someone else on the case, will you? The MIA's got plenty of people, and we can always borrow wizards from the other branches of the Department of Mysteries too."_

_          "That'd ruin everything! He's just starting to listen to me. If you send someone else in, the whole charade will start all over again. We don't have time for that – five more days, remember?"_

_          "Yeah, but... uh, Moony, I really, highly recommend you don't go in there. I mean, truly, a five-star flashing neon recommendation here."_

_          "Why? Wait a minute... what's going on? You have that look."_

_          "What look? I don't have any look!"_

_          "That I-hope-no-one-notices-I-just-ran-over-the-Minister-of-Magic's-hat-with-my-flaming-motorbike look."_

_          "Hey, that only happened once and it was purely accidental!"_

_          "Yeah, and I'm a veela. Just tell me what you did."_

_          "OK, but don't yell too loudly or bite me or anything. Alastor Moody wanted a go at Malfoy, and I let him, on orders from above."_

_          "What!"_

_          "Shhh! I knew you'd react this way! They just wanted another perspective – the whole werewolf business puts them on edge around you. They think you're biased in favour of Dark Creatures."_

_          "Mad-Eye Moody hates Malfoy!"_

_          "Honestly, who doesn't?  I still would've said no, but the rest of the DoM was against me. Moody's still a very capable Auror – no one calls him paranoid these days, even if he's gotten a bit ruthless. Anyway, he didn't get anything out of the kid, not even with his methods."_

_          "'His methods'? Oh, God, Padfoot, don't tell me... he didn't use..."_

_          "Yes, he did, when nothing else had worked."_

_          "...the Cruciatus curse!"_

_          "Moony! Moony, come back! Don't go in there yet! MOONY!"_

************************************************************************************

The first thing Lupin saw when he burst through the door was a damning streak of red on the floor. The table and chairs had been pushed aside and stood forlornly, half-toppled, against the wall. To his relief, however, there was no other evidence of violence in the room. His eyes came to rest on Malfoy; he could feel his own heartbeat in his throat as his breath caught painfully at the sight.

Draco was sitting in the corner with head bowed, his arms resting on his drawn-up knees. His pale blonde hair stood up in tousled clumps as if he had torn at it in a rage, and there were long raw cuts on his arms; judging by his bloody fingernails, they were self-inflicted. That would explain the blood on the floor, in any case. At Lupin's arrival, he looked up, lip already curling in a sneer, with some caustic remark ready on the tongue. When he saw who it was, however, his face went blank and he merely watched his visitor silently. His lips looked red and swollen, as if he had bitten them mercilessly. There were more scratches on his face. 

In two strides Lupin was at his side with wand in hand. Draco flinched away from him contemptuously.

"Don't touch me," he snapped.

Lupin froze. "Although you presumably won't believe me," he said calmly, "I'd like you to know that I had nothing whatsoever to do with this."

"Oh, I believe you," Draco said with a cold laugh, "But it doesn't really matter, does it? At least, it doesn't make much difference to me." His livid lips tightened and he shuddered.

Ignoring the comment, Lupin gripped his wand and waved it in the air over Draco's head. "_Quitto cruciatus!"_ he murmured. A shower of white, mist-like particles flowed out of the end of the wand and settled onto Draco's skin. A second later they melted away, as if absorbed into his body. His tense shoulders relaxed visibly, and the crimson cuts faded somewhat, though refusing to disappear entirely. Some of the hostility faded unwillingly from his expression. He blinked and looked up at Lupin.

"What was that?" he asked. 

"A pain-relieving spell," Lupin said, "One of the few I know. I use it sometimes on myself, if the Change has been particularly rough..." He hesitated a moment, then sat down cross-legged on the floor facing Draco.

Draco laughed hollowly and rubbed his arms as if he were cold. "What now? Going to offer me chocolate?"

"Mad-Eye Moody hardly counts as a Dementor, even if he is somewhat frightening at times."

Draco's mouth twisted. "He isn't _frightening._ I'm not _frightened_ of him. In fact, I almost had to laugh at him. Here I am, in the hands of the oh-so-good-and-golden Ministry of Magic, and when they want something badly enough they act exactly the same way the Dark Lord would." His voice was unmistakably garnished with bitterness. 

It was Lupin's turn to grimace. The same thought had crossed his mind more than once in the months since he had accepted the position at MIA. In the beginning it hadn't been that way... but Voldemort's power had been growing steadily for two years, and nothing they did seemed to stop or even slow him. Deaths and disappearances grew ever more common, and many feared that only too many of those disappearances were actually defections. Suspicion grew rampant; everyone eyed their neighbours and wondered what side they stood on. The number of safe places in the wizarding world had dropped alarmingly: the Ministry headquarters itself, Hogwarts, a few hidden cells like this one, perhaps Hogsmeade... Even the Muggles were getting nervous, without knowing what was actually happening.  

"I know," he said in answer to Malfoy's remark, "That was always the worst of Voldemort's powers."

"And that," said Draco, "Is why he will win in the end. Because the longer the war goes on, the more you will become like him. He doesn't have to defeat you; you'll defeat yourselves. He's everyone's demon."

"I notice you said 'he' and not 'we'," Lupin remarked, raising his eyebrows questioningly. 

Draco looked chagrined. "Slip of the tongue," he muttered, "Besides, I'm hardly part of any 'we' right now."

"You could be."

"What, by joining you?" Draco said incredulously, "After what just took place here? I'm not stupid enough to think any of them will ever forgive me. Bloody hell! That's a lose-lose situation if I ever heard one! I'll be despised and held prisoner for the rest of my life, until the Dark Lord wins control of the world and subjects me to a slow and painful death as punishment for selling out. If the Mudbloods and Ministry prats don't do it first."

"I'm not entirely without influence, you know," Lupin said, "My best friend _does_ run this joint."

Draco only seemed to fold up into himself even more. He made no answer, staring sightlessly at the sterile floor before his feet. To Lupin's eyes, he looked distressingly young, far too young to be a hated Deatheater; and something in the boy's expression reminded him of a caged wolf, his every exit blocked. It was a feeling he himself was all too familiar with.

 Watching Draco, Lupin tried to put himself in his place. What could he be thinking? And how could Lupin make use of it?

It was obvious that Malfoy was unpleasantly wedged between a rock and, well, another rock. He had summed the situation up all too well himself. Voldemort himself had no need for this particular servant of his, considering how large his following had become. If Draco ever ran into his former Deatheater comrades again, they would most likely finish him without even a first thought, must less a second one; he would hardly be able to convince them that he hadn't squealed to the Department of Mysteries, and one 17-year-old Deatheater, even a Malfoy, wouldn't be worth taking that kind of risk for. On the other hand, his face and name were infamous in the wizarding world for the attempted betrayal of Hogwarts. No Ministry wizard would show particular kindness or mercy in his case, and death or at least a lifetime in prison awaited him almost certainly. Somehow Lupin doubted that Draco would survive for very long as a captive. The wolf in him howled silently at the thought: walls on every side, no space to run, only pacing, pacing, pacing...

Even if he managed to escape, he would have to flee very far to elude both Voldemort and the Ministry. It wouldn't be much of a life – hiding in the Muggle world, always watching for signs of pursuit, cut off from everyone he knew and cared about... supposing he cared about anyone at all. But that was the only possibility that would leave him alive.

And none of this was what Lupin was actually supposed to be thinking about. He had come because of Ginny, and of all the things he had learned, none of them brought him closer to her. If he couldn't discover her whereabouts from Malfoy, he never would, and that was as good as a death sentence... there wasn't much chance that Voldemort would leave her alive, and if he did it might be in a worse state than death. There had to be some way to get Malfoy to talk...

And suddenly, the whirling thoughts came together in Lupin's head, and a desperate, lunatic plan stood before him in all its glory. Desperate... no, criminal. Mad. More than that – it verged on treachery. The Ministry would never agree, which meant that he would have to do it secretly. He would lose his job; he might even be declared a follower of Voldemort. And Sirius could get in trouble too, just for being close to him. But it meant a chance for Ginny, and a chance for Draco as well. 

And he was dead sure that he wouldn't get a word out of Draco for a lower price. It was the only way out; and tomorrow would be his only shot at it. He had to convince his unwilling companion that it was in his own interest as well.

"Draco," he said. 

Malfoy's snapped up, and he blinked as if disturbed out of his own, probably dark and unpleasant thoughts. 

"What?"

Lupin took a deep breath. "If I break you out of here, will you tell me how to find Ginny?"

Malfoy's mouth fell open in utter shock. His flashing eyes practically bugged out of his thin face – obviously he hadn't expected a question like that from Lupin. 

"_What?_ You would let me go – against the orders of the Ministry – and implicate yourself with a Deatheater?"

"In a word, yes," Lupin said. 

Malfoy stared at him suspiciously. "What's the catch?" he asked. 

"Look, I'll say this once," Lupin said, "Ginny is more important than my reputation – it's not like a werewolf can afford to be too touchy about his name anyway. I know what you want. I can give it to you. And, despite what you think, I won't even regret it... I like you, Draco. You remind me of someone I used to know. And if we do this, you and Ginny will both live. Of course, we'll still have to get Ginny away from Voldemort, and once you're free you'll have to hide yourself. I can't help you with that. But I _can_ offer you a chance. Think of it this way – your life for Ginny's." _And mine_, he added silently. 

Malfoy shook his head disbelievingly. "You're serious, aren't you?" he said, "Amazing. My dad was right – you are a soft-hearted idiot." He hesitated. "But I suppose I don't have any other choice that won't lead to a very humourless death at the hands of my leagues of enemies. Alright: how do you plan to do it?"

"You'll find out tomorrow," Lupin said coolly, "Tomorrow evening you'll be brought here again. I'll join you a bit later. There are certain... means that I have at my disposal to break us out. But you have to tell me now: where is Ginny?"

Malfoy's expression turned suspicious. "How do I know this isn't a trick?" he asked, "If I tell you now, how do I know you'll keep your promise?"

"I always keep my promises," Lupin said somewhat huffily, "You'll just have to trust me, that's all."

"Trust... argh. Fine. Firstly, as I told you before – the girl is in Azkaban."

Lupin shook his head impatiently. "There's nothing there!" he protested. 

"It's not a question of here or there or where. It's a question of _when._"

Realization illuminated Lupin's mind. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed despite himself, "Voldemort built his headquarters at Azkaban – _in a different time?_" Then he frowned, "And I presume he has the Dementors there with him – no wonder we couldn't find them anywhere..."

"Exactly," Draco nodded, "The Mortia Fortress exists only centuries in the past, before Azkaban was ever used as a wizard's prison. You need a time turner to get there. There are several hidden on Azkaban for emergencies, in our time – I can show you where they are, and what date to dial in. Secondly, are you familiar with the Amores Despiso spell?

Lupin considered the name. "Yes," he said finally, after searching his memory, "It's very rare." It was – he had never heard of a case of it actually being used. The Amores spell was extremely complicated; if performed correctly, it showed the relationships binding people together. When cast upon a subject, the spell manifested itself as a multitude of thin lines radiating web-like out of the body for a distance of a few feet. Each line represented a relationship; love lines were golden, hate lines black. Under the influence of the spell, the subject could sense the presence of everyone connected to him or her. What was truly useful about Amores, however, was that one could pull anyone the subject had a close relationship with to the scene by tugging on his or her line. As far as he knew, the Amores spell had sometimes been used to find missing family members, if a capable enough wizard could gather together the ingredients. 

Lupin's eyes flew open as he realized just what use this spell could bring Voldemort. 

"Harry..." he breathed, "He wants to use Amores to pull Harry to himself."

"Yeah – Potter again. It's all about Potter," Draco said, with unconcealed contempt, "The Weasley girl's been crazy about him since second year." He yawned unconcernedly. "All Voldemort has to do is cast the spell, find the right connection, give a little tug, and voila! There's Potter, and no one will have any clue where or when their Golden Boy has gotten to. And then the Dark Lord's triumph will be assured."

"I have to stop him," Lupin said automatically.

"I hope you're not expecting me to help," Draco remarked.

"All you have to do is show me where the time turner is. I'll take care of the rest."

"So you're going to take on the Dark Lord, the Dementors, and any Deatheaters that might be hanging around by yourself?"

Lupin shrugged. "Basically, yeah," he said, "Why?"

"No reason, it's not like I care or anything. It isn't my problem – as long as you get me out of here."

"I said I would," Lupin said resolutely, "Tomorrow. Don't do anything stupid until then."

Draco laughed acidly. "What would I do?"

Lupin shrugged. "I don't dare guess. Is there anything else?"

"No," Draco shook his head, "You're insane, but we already knew that. Wait – "

"What?"

"Who is it I remind you of so much?"

Lupin wondered if he should answer. He wasn't sure what reaction the truth would prompt; who knew what it might induce Malfoy to say or do? But on the other hand, why not? He might as well tell him. By tomorrow they would probably both be fugitives anyway, and nothing he said now would matter. 

"Chryseis," he said.

"What, because of my shocking beauty?" Draco said caustically, "You really have problems, you know. That level of obsession is pretty sickening."

Lupin ignored the sarcastic comment. "Perhaps I forgot to mention," he said offhandedly, "That Chryseis' last name was Malfoy?"

He couldn't help feeling wickedly pleased at Draco's sudden silence. 

"She was Lucius' twin sister. I'm not surprised he never spoke about her – she was considered rather a failure in the long, glorious, ruthless history of the Malfoy family. She never joined the Deatheaters. You look a lot like she did."

"But then..." Draco looked half-sickened.

"I could've been your uncle," Lupin grinned. The horrified expression on Draco's face was highly amusing. As he got up to leave, Lupin only wished that Sirius were there to see it. 

A thousand thoughts battled for his attention as he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. He had committed himself; he had climbed out onto a very unstable limb. Now all that remained was to dance as delicately as he could to the end and hope the ground wasn't too far down. He wondered briefly if he should tell Sirius. But no, he couldn't risk involving Padfoot; if he knew what Lupin was planning, he would be implicated as a traitor as well. He was on his own, with only Draco Malfoy for company.

_Alia iacta est,_ he thought grimly as he paced quickly down the corridor. 

* _Alia iacta est_ – Latin: The die is cast. Julius Caesar allegedly said this when he crossed the border of Italia to launch an attack on the city of Rome, meaning that he had gone too far by then to turn back.


	4. Abasement

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, etc. are property of J.K. Rowling. This is an unauthorized fiction. I am not receiving money for this fiction. Some things mentioned (Department of Mysteries, Unspeakables, etc.) are part of a Harry Potter fanon not created by me. Unfortunately, I'm not sure where this stuff actually originated, so I can't accord credit... Just rest assured that it wasn't my feverish brain that came up with it!

ABASEMENT

          _"Could you hand me that? Thanks. Sure you don't want one?"_

_          "Nah. Never have an appetite before the full moon."_

_          "When Chocolate Frogs are in question, how can one not have an appetite?"_

_          "If I bite a Chocolate Frog in werewolf form, will it turn into a were-frog?"_

_          "Wow. That was bitter."_

_          "Yeah. I changed my mind – give me one of those, will you? Thanks."_

_          "Relax, Moony. Remember, this is everyone's night off. Good idea, actually, giving the staff the afternoon free. The tension was really getting too much. Plus now every body in the place adores you, since you suggested it, you wily coyote."_

_          "Yeah, except the back-up security."_

_          "Heh. Poor suckers."_

_          "With talk like that, it's surprising you don't have a mutiny on your hands. Luckily you're too smart to go around calling _me_ a sucker."_

_          "Well, yes, I am rather a genius, aren't I?... You're not still miffed at me, are you?"_

_          "Who, me? I know it wasn't your fault. I presume Moody's on the job tonight, too?"_

_          "Naturally. He wouldn't take an evening off if you imperio-ed him to do it."_

_          "I guess not."_

_          "Don't look so depressed! Maybe he'll dig up something."_

_          "If by 'something' you mean 'Malfoy's internal organs' and by 'dig' you mean 'rip to shreds,' then yes, he might. Sirius, don't you ever feel like..."_

_          "Like what?"_

_          "Like we're losing ourselves in this fight. Like we can't see the forest for the trees. Like we're all stuck in a trap together, and the harder we struggle the tighter we end up being held. I mean, I think about what's going on in that room right now and, and... I just don't believe it! It's impossible! Is this what we've come to? Torturing the helpless in the name of righteousness?"_

_          "No. That's not how it is. There isn't a witch or wizard in the Department who enjoys this. And yes, maybe we are losing some of our ideals. But the alternative is losing everything. EVERYTHING, Remus! We're the first line of defence, remember. Whatever we do here, sacrificing our bodies, sacrificing our souls even, we do it to protect those innocents who rely on us. Don't forget, I know what horror means. Can you imagine Voldemort winning, setting his Deatheaters and Dementors loose on the world? I'd do anything to stop that, to protect Harry from that, even if it means destroying and abasing myself in the process."_

_          "So that's the bottom line then... we can condone any action if it protects the innocent."_

_          "Yes."_

_          "Any action at all."_

_          "Yes."_

_          "Alright. Maybe I even agree with you. Now if you don't mind, I believe I'll withdraw..."_

_          "Oh, right... almost forgot... are you going to finish that Chocolate Frog?"_

_          "Here, have it."_

_          "Thanks. You drank the Wolfsbane, I presume?"_

_          "Naturally! See the bottle?"_

_          "Alright. Have a good night then."_

_          "Don't I always?"_

************************************************************************************

          Blinding flashes of pain thudded through Draco's head like red-hot pistons. Scalding needles were piercing his skin. His blood turned to liquid fire, his muscles to shuddering blocks of ice. His bones writhed and mutated, pulling apart and contracting, reforming like tortured earth ripped apart by rivers of fire. A black tide of pain rose in him, roaring like a stormy sea, rising to overwhelm him. He was choking, drowning, burning, searing – 

          Then suddenly it stopped, and he was left blinking weakly into the harsh light. His breath sounded loud and hoarse in his ears. But there had been another sound as well – a faint swish of air, like a door opening.

          He dragged himself to a sitting position with trembling arms. For a moment he could see nothing but wavering ghostly blurs, darkly outlined in the hard light. He blinked and the tears faded; the room crept back into focus. 

          "Lupin?" he heard Moody say in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

          Lupin stood in the doorway, looking grim and haggard. His robes were unkempt. There was a battered flask attached to his belt and his wand looked smudged as if from overuse. A muscle in his cheek twitched as he looked at the ancient, scar-bound face of the Auror. There was no dislike or contempt in that gaze, Draco could not help noticing; despite his intimated disapproval of Moody's means, Lupin obviously had no other issues with the man. The thought was a twist of sullen unfairness, but that was nothing new. Most of his thoughts were painful. And it didn't matter what Lupin's opinions were, as long as he kept his word.

          "I came to help you," Lupin said, as if the fact were self-evident. 

          Draco wondered if Lupin had counted on Moody's presence here. How would he deal with the one-legged bastard? It was too much to expect that Lupin would think of some fittingly painful creativity to eliminate Moody. Still, Draco decided darkly, if he managed to get even a finger on a wand, he would leave the twisted old monster with something to remember him by. Or maybe he would see to it that Moody never had a chance to remember anything again. 

          "Not meaning to offend, Lupin," Moody said gruffly, lowering his wand, "But I thought you were indisposed tonight. A wolf can hardly ask questions, after all..."

          Internal alarms began to clamour in Draco's recovering brain. A wolf, tonight? But that would mean that there was a full moon rising outside. Lupin had set the date for the escape today, but he could hardly do anything as a werewolf – could he? Something had gone wrong. Perhaps they had been found out...

          "Don't worry, Alastor," Lupin said with a tired smile, "I haven't forgotten. I know exactly what I am doing. In fact, I am here on orders. Sirius received a message from the top, you see, suggesting a new... approach to the problem, which only I can deliver."

          "I wasn't informed..."

          "There was no time - the order only arrived today. We had to move immediately, because the tactic requires the full moon."

          New tactic? The smell of danger hovered in the air like the stench of a particularly ripe French cheese. Draco found his liking for events diminishing even more. He looked around furtively; a sudden urge gripped him to leap to his feet and run out the door, grabbing Moody's wand on the way and taking his chances. That, however, would be suicide, and although he had often thought that death was not an undesirable alternative to life, still he could not quite bring himself to step over the final line of indifference.

          "I think you'd better explain yourself, sonny," Moody said, "What exactly are you planning to do?"

          "In about twenty minutes," Lupin replied coolly, "I am going to transform into a werewolf. If Malfoy does not reveal everything he knows within the following five minutes, I will bite him."

           Draco almost choked aloud. _Treachery!_ A voice deep inside him laughed at the hypocrisy of his own indignation. He could not believe it. He had been so sure! He had been positive that Lupin, the golden boy, the infallibly moral gentleman, would never go back on his word. 

          He began to realize that he had made a very serious mistake. 

          Horror breathed moistly down his neck. To be bitten by a werewolf... he knew he was strong-willed; he could stand pain and threats and endless interrogation. But becoming a Dark Creature was something else altogether. To turn into a ravening monster every month, to have that monster imprisoned inside you, tearing eternally at the bars of humanity that held it trapped... even in human form, the werewolf qualities would carry over. He doubted he would be able to hold them at bay as well as Lupin had. But worse, there were the transformations themselves. He was painfully aware that the spell that had protected him so far, the Obstaculus spell, was only effectual on humans. Once he began to transform into a wolf, the magic would drop off him like autumn leaves, and everything he knew would be horribly exposed. A simple Veritas spell before he had lost the ability to talk, and his last playing card would be gone. Then they could do what they liked with him: incarcerate him for eternity, with only gruesome nights as a demonic wolf to pass the time. 

          And it would all begin tonight, in about twenty minutes. 

          Moody cleared his throat. "Isn't that a tad... harsh?" he asked, a frown deepening the shadowed scars on his face. 

          Draco wondered if weakness and fear had destroyed his sense of hearing. Lupin, he noticed, looked hardly less surprised. Was he mistaken, or had Mad-Eye Moody expressed a compassionate sentiment?

          "You know my feelings about these things," Lupin said, "But what can we do? Orders are orders."

          "Yes, of course, you're right," Moody grumbled, "And this is your case, technically... now what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

          Lupin shrugged. "You aren't needed for the moment. Come back in a half hour – if there are two wolves here, then you'll know I failed. If Malfoy is still human, then I will have procured the information and will be able to pass it on at sunrise. In the meantime, why don't you get some rest – most of the staff have probably either gone to bed or Apparated to a cheerier place by now anyway. Or," he added as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, "you could take a message to Sirius from me. Tell him... 'we can condone any action if it protects the innocent.'"

          Moody's expression changed to what might have been meant as sympathy; his mouth drew down while the scars on his forehead contracted, and his magical eye fixed on Lupin. 

          "This really bothers you, doesn't it?" he asked.

          "We all do what we have to," Lupin replied quietly.

          Moody nodded. "Very well," he said, "good hunting." With a last look at Draco, still crouched on the floor, he hobbled out the door, drawing it closed behind him.

          For a moment Draco couldn't find words. 

          "You fucking _bastard,"_ he snarled finally, stumbling weakly to his feet. He was as unsteady as a batch of overheated taffy, but too angry and frightened to care. He felt betrayed. The sensation was new to him, and he didn't like it. Usually he was the one betraying others – that was the proper order of things. 

          Lupin pointed his wand at him warningly. "Be quiet," he said with a hint of a snap in his tone, "and do exactly as I tell you."

          "I won't do a damn thing," Draco hissed, "You're wasting your time threatening me."

          "Oh, for God's..." Lupin rubbed his face roughly with his free hand, "Don't tell me you believed that!"

          It took a moment for Draco to register this. "What...?" he said finally, "You mean you're not going to...?"

          "No," Lupin said with unconcealed exasperation, "We had a deal, remember? Not everyone is a traitor."

          The barb found its target. Draco could feel himself flushing. His insides seemed to be changing temperature rapidly. One moment he was filled with burning anger, then icy embarrassment, then boiling hatred and melting shame. He wished for a wand, his fingers clenching unconsciously at the thought. If a glare could curse, he was sure his would have, but Lupin seemed not to notice. 

          Anger, as usual, sharpened his wits. His eyes lighted on the shabby flask at Lupin's hip. 

          "So," he said, determined to change the subject, "Polyjuice Potion?"

          Lupin stared at him expressionlessly. "What?" he asked finally. 

          Draco glared. "The flask!" he snapped, "Who am I going to turn into? That is your plan, isn't it?"

          "Don't be ridiculous!" Lupin said, rolling his eyes, "You think we could polyjuice our way out of this? Every arriving or departing witch or wizard is subject to a security check – including, among other things, a Polyjuice detection test. This is a high security facility, Malfoy, and that means wards, guards, and enchanted bars."

          "Thank you for that confidence-inspiring lecture, Professor," Draco said, "Now if you don't mind, I have a question or two. Actually, just one: how are we getting out of here?"

          A smile played at the corners of Lupin's lips, making him look mischievously youthful. Instead of replying, he pulled a piece of folded parchment out of his pocket, smoothing it out carefully. The paper was joined seconds later by what appeared to be a Number 2 pencil. 

          "Let's use our imaginations, shall we?" he suggested, holding the paper out to Draco.

          Draco took it hesitantly. The crisp page crackled in his hands as he glanced over the lines and marks marring its white surface. 

          It was a map. 

          A map of the building, he realized instantly and with rising excitement. It was rough and undetailed, showing only unidentified rooms and corridors. Little dots roamed the two-dimensional world, labelled with names, most of which were unfamiliar. He did, however, recognize two of them: Remus Lupin and Draco Malfoy, stationary in what was aptly designated the 'interrogation room.' Another spot, labelled 'Alastor Moody,' was hurrying along a corridor away from them. There were conspicuously few people present. He recalled Lupin's words to Moody – '_most of the staff have gone to bed or Apparated to a cheerier place.'_ Apparently, his former professor had somehow managed to thin out the security tonight. 

          Then he noticed something that made his breath catch. He looked up at Lupin slowly. "Is this accurate?" he asked. 

          "I assume you've spotted our escape route," Lupin said with a twinkle in his eye.

          "I'll say," Draco muttered.

          Beneath the hastily drawn halls and rooms, a tunnel stretched across the length of the map. It opened to the wide outside beyond the building. And, according to the drawing, its entrance was _in the very room they were standing in!_

          "How is this possible?" Draco wondered aloud sceptically, "Why would there be a tunnel from an interrogation room, of all places? Wouldn't it be warded? And where's the entrance?"

          "The answer is quite simple," Lupin said in his best lecturing tone, "there isn't a tunnel."

          "What the hell! Then what is this all about?"

          "...yet. There is no tunnel yet." Lupin finished. 

          "Oh, brilliant," Draco commented with mock enthusiasm, "all we have to do is dig one, then!"

          "No, all we have to do is draw one."

          "You mean..." Draco gestured to the unassuming pencil in Lupin's hand, "with your magic pencil there? And just how do you plan to draw a tunnel on the ground?"

          "Typical teenager," Lupin muttered, "think they know everything... now listen for a minute! There's a lot more magic in this little stick than you think. This isn't a joke pencil, it's a Realiscryber. It can tweak reality a bit, in a pinch. Since I've drawn the tunnel onto the map, reality is now trying to bend itself to fit its new blueprint. Unfortunately, it doesn't know where to start. The solution is simple – all we have to do is give the magic a place to fix onto. In other words, draw the _beginning_ of the tunnel. The rest will fall into place from there." 

          Draco nodded slowly, beginning to understand. "So we draw a trapdoor on the floor?"

          "Precisely. The escape route will build itself from that point. And since it will be brand-new, there won't be any wards placed around it."

          "Well, it's creative, I have to give you that," Draco said grudgingly, "But couldn't you just have disabled the wards and Apparated us out of here?"

          "For a Deatheater, you have remarkably little understanding of how wards work," Lupin remarked with exaggerated patience, "The moment the wards detected a Dark Creature tampering with them they'd start shrieking louder than an offended veela. Believe me, I've thought this out quite carefully. Now, if you have no further objections?" 

          When Draco didn't reply, Lupin nodded to himself and crouched down with pencil in hand. He began sketching lightly on the floor. Despite his determined detachment, Draco found himself watching curiously. Lupin obviously had some experience with art. His slim fingers held the pencil with the same assurance they did his wand, and an expression of thoughtful confidence enveloped his face. The pose was reminiscent of a Renaissance painter, Draco found himself thinking, a painter spending long insomniac nights tracing silvery waves and night-flowers onto obedient canvas. He stepped closer, almost expecting to see rose-tinted clouds wreathing the soft limbs of innocent angel children as they peered up at him shyly. 

          No angels greeted him, but the picture that had taken shape under Lupin's skilful hands was hardly less fascinating. The reason for this, Draco mused, was most likely that it wasn't quite a picture. 

          One half of a trapdoor protruded slightly out of the floor. It was a simple device, apparently made of thin wooden boards, with a broad iron handle at the end. The handle looked quite substantial, as did the planks surrounding it, but towards the other end, where the hinges should be, the wood faded back into the bare floor. Only a few grey lines revealed what the finished trapdoor would look like. Lupin was filling them in diligently, and the little door grew gradually more corporeal as he watched. 

          "How much more time will this take?" Draco asked a few minutes later, when the work seemed almost finished.

          Lupin paused and glanced up at him. Before he could speak, however, the door banged open and Mad-Eye Moody stomped in, scowling pure murder at them both. 

          Draco was only vaguely aware of Lupin jumping to his feet, both wand and pencil dropping from his hands. A wave of self-recrimination momentarily blotted out all other thoughts. He clenched the paper in his hand angrily. _Why hadn't he watched the map?_ If he hadn't been so absorbed in observing Lupin, he could have known Moody was on his way here! He fumed inwardly, not least because lurking beneath his rage he could feel the dark stirrings of fear. 

           "Lupin!" Moody snapped, levelling his wand at both of them, "I knew there was something dodgy about this whole thing... Whatever's gotten into you, you'll have a hard time explaining it to the Ministry!" His magical eye glared balefully at his colleague like a miniature full moon.

          "Alastor, calm down," Lupin said, spreading his hands apart slightly to show that they were empty of any weapon, "You misunderstand my intentions..."

          "It's a bit difficult to misunderstand treachery, isn't it?" Moody replied bitterly, "But I would never have guessed it of you, Remus. This is going to upset a lot of people – a Deatheater in the Agency! You've dragged our name through the mud, boy!"

          "I am _not_ a Deatheater," Lupin growled with sudden harshness. Draco could not help thinking that his former teacher looked a lot more sinister than he usually did. Shadows clung to Lupin amorously, and Draco could have sworn that the man's eyes were glowing a soft amber. The light flashed on his teeth when he spoke. They looked oddly sharp. 

          Moody seemed to notice Lupin's ominous aura as well. He raised his wand threateningly. "Don't make a move," he said, "I'm only going to Stupefy you, but if you try any of that werewolf business on me I promise you I can think of worse." 

          Werewolf business? Draco realized that he had almost forgotten – tonight was the full moon. And the twenty minutes had surely passed by now. Was Lupin beginning to Change? The situation was getting bleaker by the second. Grateful to be momentarily forgotten, he watched the two men apprehensively, repressing an urge to shiver at the tension crackling in the air. 

          "I... don't... _werewolf business!_" Lupin forced the words out of his throat. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. The shaking spread quickly to the rest of his body. Draco watched in sick fascination as Lupin's face contorted with pain and he clutched dizzily at his head. 

          Moody backed away uneasily, seeming slightly unsure of what action to take. "Remus...?" he asked nervously. 

          Lupin's hands jerked suddenly, pulling away from his face. Pure golden eyes glared at the Auror fiercely. He clenched his fists, and Draco could see that the fingernails had grown black and blunt, like chips splintered from an ancient school blackboard. Suddenly, a strangled howl ripped from Lupin's throat, and he began to tear at his robes with his stunted claws. The dark cloth fell away, slit to shreds, revealing pale, vulnerable skin underneath. Skin that was... _rippling._ Draco couldn't think of a better word for it. Lupin's skin bulged and distorted as the sinews beneath strained and the muscles ballooned to predator size. It looked like the earth after a drought, broken, uneven, abused. His hair, which seemed coarser and shaggier than it had been, grew and spread over his body infectiously. And yet he remained standing, his face his own, disfigured by an anguish too great for words. 

          Draco himself never knew quite what happened to him in that moment. A sudden silence descended upon him, and he watched with detached interest as tendrils of cruelly twisted magic battered a man's body. Deep darkness welled up from some source of primitive evil, gleefully tormenting its hapless victim, ripping, tearing, twisting, mutating, searing, torturing... Where had this magic come from? Who had begun it? What purpose did it serve, why did it flit so menacingly through the world to alight on this man and dig cruel talons into his soul? He didn't know. All he knew was that, for the first time in his life, he felt an immense pity touch him gently, like a golden feather drifting from the sky. 

          The silence shattered as Lupin staggered and crashed to the floor in a shuddering convulsion. More wolf than man, he kicked reflexively as if trying to fend off an invisible demon. And as if by chance – accidentally? purposefully? – his wiry, fur-covered foot connected with the wand lying forgotten on the floor, propelling it to land, spinning, at Draco's feet. 

          With a speed born of a life-time of criminal activity, Draco grabbed the slender baton and spun to face Moody. The Auror's mouth had already opened to shout an incantation when Draco hurled the first spell that came to mind. 

          "_Riddikulus!"_

_          "Stupefy!"_

The spells collided like two trains on a single track, and a bouquet of frightened fireworks burst apart in a blinding flash. Oversized sparks bounced hyperactively from wall to wall. Draco only had time to register the look of surprise on Moody's face before an enthusiastic rainbow beat him soundly over the head and the colours were swallowed by an all-encompassing blackness. 

__


	5. Difficult Circumstances

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, etc. are property of J.K. Rowling. This is an unauthorized fiction. I am not receiving money for this fiction. Some things mentioned (Department of Mysteries, Unspeakables, etc.) are part of a Harry Potter fanon not created by me. Unfortunately, I'm not sure where this stuff actually originated, so I can't accord credit... Just rest assured that it wasn't my feverish brain that came up with it!

DIFFICULT CIRCUMSTANCES

          _"Moody... Moody...?"_

_          "Argh..."_

_          "Are you alright?"_

_          "Blast it, Black! They're gone, aren't they? Help me up!"_

_          "Ow! Your wooden leg got my foot! What happened here? Where's Malfoy?"_

_          "See that?"_

_          "Holy Mother! There's a goddamn hole in the floor! How did...? Damn Malfoy! How did he do it?"_

_          "Not by himself, I can assure you. What time is it?"_

_          "Almost morning – "_

_          "Call the Ministry immediately! We need search parties, on the double!"_

_          "Wait a minute - "_

_          "I want Croaker, Bode, the Guild, the Unspeakables, Fudge, anyone who has any power around here! They must be stopped!"_

_          "Hold it just one minute! I'm in command of this base, and I give the orders. Now... who are 'they'? What happened? How did Malfoy escape?"_

_          "The bloody werewolf helped him!"_

_          "No..."_

_          "He came in here with a Realiscryber – heaven knows where he got it! – and charmed an escape route for himself and his Deatheater friend!"_

_          "That's impossible! Remus would never - !"_

_          "Oh, wouldn't he? I saw it with my own eyes! You want to put a Veritas on me to prove it? Ha! The Ministry and their tolerance standards! I knew all along we shouldn't have let a Dark Creature among us! They're black as pitch, every one of them. Can't help it, but they still can't be trusted."_

_          "Remus is not a Dark Creature!"_

_          "He's a werewolf, therefore by _definition _a Dark Creature! And he just broke a Deatheater out of prison! That's a criminal act amounting to treachery of the highest degree, and you know it damn well. Not to mention that our chances of finding the Weasley girl now are about as good as Malfoy's chances when I catch up with him. It's downright murder. Listen, Black... I know he was your friend. But take it as a lesson – CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"_

_          "I don't believe it... I just don't believe it..." _

_          "You'd better believe it! Blast, my wand's gone... they must have taken it."_

_          "No, I'm telling you there's another answer. This can't be what it looks like."_

_          "Another answer? What? Malfoy, without a wand, somehow managed to cast an Imperius curse strong enough to knock out a fully-trained Auror, came up with something as clever as a Realiscryber to get out of here, and left us all blinking in the dust? Sorry, but that doesn't sound too credible to me."_

_          "That's not what I meant...You don't know Remus like I do. He's got some plan that he didn't tell us about. Did he say anything that might help us? Anything unusual?"_

_          "Come to think of it... he sent me off with a message for you. It was only an excuse to get me out of the room, though."_

_          "A message? What was it?"_

_          "Something like... let's see... 'we can condone any action of it protects the innocent.' Tell you anything?"_

_          "Damn. The bloody courageous fool... "_

_          "What?"_

_          "He's gone after Ginny."_

          *******

          Draco was dreaming quite lucidly of the moon. It was the full moon, huge and bright, staring down at him like an eye, guiding him through a maze of towering ruins. The shadows of the looming stones were stark and deep around him. His own shadow stretched out behind, huge and black, dogging his steps. But he didn't look back. There was a path of moonlight under his feet, and he kept his eyes fixed on the pale, wavering trail. If he followed it long enough he would come to... somewhere. He didn't know where, but he was quite sure that the place was better than any he had been to before. 

          He turned a corner, and the moonlight split into two paths, one leading left, one right. He hesitated, uncertain which to take. Did it matter? Were they the same? Or was one a trick, leading him back into the depths of the maze and the endless shadows? 

          As he stood indecisive, the light began to change. It grew, doubling in brightness and melting into a shining gold colour. Twin trails of gold lay before him, shimmering and sparkling like ephemeral dust. He looked up at the sky. There were two moons now, like bright lamps, or golden eyes staring down at him. They watched him inquiringly. 

          He could hear a voice... someone was asking him a question. 

          "Draco...?"

          The voice sounded familiar. But that couldn't be... the tone was friendly, concerned. No one ever spoke to him like that. _What strange dreams may come_, he mused, _when one mixes magic carelessly._ At least this dream wasn't as bad as his usually tended to be. Even as this thought crossed his mind, the golden eyes began to dim. The barren walls receded into dusk, and a grey light leaked into his mind.

          "Draco! Wake up!"

          Draco opened his eyes and blinked dazedly into Lupin's worried face. "Hello?" was the first word that came to his lips. 

          Lupin grinned. "Hello," he said, "We're out!"

          Draco sat up with a start. Instead of the sterile interrogation room he had expected, he found himself sitting in the forest somewhere in the countryside. It was morning; the sun was just beginning to rise, filtering pale light through the tree branches. A tall oak raised its limbs high above his head, eliciting the sweet scents of late spring. Acorns lay strewn on the forest floor along with last year's foliage.  Lupin crouched at his side, watching him silently. The former teacher wore, oddly enough, a pair of flannels and a grey Cadbury's sweatshirt. 

          "What the hell?" Draco asked as politely as he could.

          "You and Moody knocked each other out. Nice Riddikulus, spell, by the way, I had no idea you were paying attention third year... the smile on Moody's unconscious face was almost sweet. I'm glad you didn't chose Avada Kedavra." There was a note in Lupin's voice that clearly said '_I knew you were better than that._' "Luckily I had essentially finished the trapdoor. I had a time, though, getting it open with my teeth. Had to drag you out of there physically, since I couldn't perform the Enervate spell. At least being a werewolf came in handy for once – I managed to carry you quite far from the base. Although I'm still not really sure where we are..." He looked around at the forest fondly, "Nice place though, isn't it?"

          "Actually, that's not what I meant," Draco said, "What's with the chocolate shirt?"

          Lupin glanced down at his sweatshirt. "I had to Summon some clothing from the nearest Muggle village," he said, "What, you don't like Cadbury's?"

          Draco didn't answer. As the morning birds began to chirp and twitter, a sudden feeling of intense euphoria came over him. He was _out_! He had escaped! He had slipped away from the Ministry _and_ Voldemort! He was free... he could go wherever he wanted. There were no strings tying him down, no family or friends to hold him back. The world was huge, and it was just waiting for him to go and lose himself in it. There were places even Voldemort couldn't reach, far, far away on the other side of the planet. He felt as light as air, as if he could go dancing and flitting zephyr-like through the heavens. He would ditch Lupin... make his way to the nearest village... get his hands on a wand somehow... break into one of the Malfoys' secret stashes of money...

          "Don't even think about it," Lupin commanded quietly. 

          Draco found himself staring at the blunt end of the other man's wand. 

          "Think about what?" he asked in perfectly feigned innocence. 

          "Leaving," Lupin replied with equally perfect confidence. 

          Draco scowled, his mood evaporating rapidly. "Why not?" he hissed, "That was our deal. I tell you where the Weasley wench is, you get me out. Good, done. Now we part ways."

          "Not yet. I need to know some things first."

          "Why should I tell you anything more?" Draco sneered. 

          "For starters, because I have a wand and you don't. Besides that, you don't really want to leave yet."

          "I damn well do. How would you know?"

          Lupin shrugged and smiled passively. "You talk in your sleep," he said simply. 

          Draco could feel the blood draining out of his face. "What did I say?" he asked. His voice came out sounding embarrassingly hoarse. 

          "'Why should I tell you anything more?'" Lupin mimicked Draco's haughty tone. 

          "What, picking up my habits?" Draco asked with a good-natured smirk, "Aren't you supposed to be the moral, kind, compassionate one here? One sarcastic, spiteful, evil Deatheater is enough, don't you think?"

          "I don't believe there are any evil Deatheaters in the area at the moment," Lupin said quite seriously. 

          Somehow this comment made Draco angry. What did Lupin know anyway? He didn't have a clue what it meant to be evil, or what it meant to be a Deatheater. And he didn't have the first idea what Draco was. In fact, Draco couldn't quite understand _why_ Lupin wanted to know him, _why_ the man wanted to assure him he wasn't evil. What level of nosiness drove Lupin to these lengths? He didn't like it. It made him feel... exposed. Young. Weak. Ignorant. All of which he was determined to hide.

          "So," he said coolly, folding his arms, "What do you want?"

          "I need to know some things about Azkaban," Lupin said, examining his fingernails nonchalantly. 

          "Why?" Draco lifted his eyebrows, "Don't they have the whole placed mapped out at the Ministry? Shouldn't there be teams ready for instant action?"

          "I don't need this information for the Ministry," Lupin replied calmly, "I need it for myself."

          "You don't..." Draco trailed off. A dark suspicion stirred in his mind. Lupin was, obviously, stark roaring mad. No wonder the man had helped him escape. He was a loony, irredeemably, hopelessly, chronically insane. That was the only explanation. "You're going to go after Weasley," Draco said in disbelief, "You. By yourself. Alone."

          Lupin nodded as if it were no big deal. Draco slapped himself on the forehead. 

          "I don't understand," he said, "If you want to get yourself killed for the girl, I suppose that's no surprise – typical senseless Gryffindor reaction. But this will lead to, obviously, let's see..." he began counting on his fingers, "_your_ death. _Her_ death. _Potter's_ death. After that, the rest of the world." He threw his hands up into the air. "You won't end up as much of a hero, I can promise you that."

          "I'm not a hero," Lupin agreed grimly, "In fact, I'm a criminal. A fugitive. A traitor, as some will no doubt call me. Suppose I return to the Ministry now and try to tell them everything I've learned. They'll Stun me on sight and disregard anything I might manage to squeak out before the spell hits me as Voldemort's lies. By the time I convinced them of the truth, it would be too late. Leading inevitably to all the results you just listed up so nicely."

          Draco considered this for a minute. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, "Pretty tough, eh? Being hunted by your own side for trying to save the world?" He shook his head in amusement. "People these days. They just don't understand loners like us, do they?" He grinned insolently. 

          "Not at all," Lupin said agreeably, "You do understand, then, why I need more information about Azkaban?"

          "So you can run foolishly to your own death," Draco nodded pleasantly, "I'll tell you whatever you need to get there." 

          "Right. First of all, where are the Time Turners hidden?"

          "On the western beach. The black one. There's a stone shaped like a Dementor's claw. There should be a Time Turner under it. You should set it to year - "

          "I don't need the date," Lupin interrupted, "Which Deatheaters are likely to be present during the spell?"

          "Wait a minute..." Draco said, ignoring the last question, "Why don't you need the year? I told you, Voldemort's HQ is in the distant past, in a Stasis Bubble, for that matter. You have to know the exact date to get there, because it exists in only one second. "

          "Voldemort will have to bring Ginny back to the present to perform the spell anyway," Lupin said, "You don't know much about the Amores Despiso, do you? The threads of magic that bind people to each other are in a state of constant change. They have to match up perfectly, or in other words, be in the appropriate time period in order for the connection to be complete. If Voldemort tries to yank Harry back to the Stone Age or something, he'll end up empty-handed. He'll have to bring the whole operation back to our time, and I plan to catch him there, outside his stronghold. Now, about the Deatheaters?"

          "Right..." Draco muttered distractedly. He wondered vaguely why he was doing something that would end up benefiting Potter. Probably because someone was pointing a wand at him very persuasively. Somehow, though, he didn't mind so much, since the whole thing would end up with Potter and Weasley dead... and Voldemort more powerful than ever. That thought bothered him slightly, but he ignored it. "My mother will be there," he said, "Ever since Black caught Wormtail she's been Voldemort's right hand. I'm sure she'll be in this somehow... Probably the Lestranges too. They're so fanatically loyal he trusts them with almost anything. Some others... I don't know how many he needs for the spell."

          "Seven," Lupin said somewhat absently, "there must be seven wizards or witches to manage the spell."

          "Lovely," Draco enthused brightly, "It'll be you versus Voldemort, at least seven Deatheaters, and a butt-load of Dementors. I'm green with envy."

          "I can hardly wait either," Lupin said, straight-faced, "One more question."

          "What? Hurry up before I fall asleep again from boredom..."

          "Where are you going to go?"

          Draco blinked. "What do you care?" he asked with reflexive suspicion. Lupin only looked at him steadily until he dropped his eyes, feeling faintly embarrassed and even angrier for letting himself be flustered so easily. "I don't know," he mumbled, "Far away. Why?"

          "Just curious," Lupin said, amusement tingeing his voice, "Maybe we'll meet again sometime."

          "Not if I can help it," Draco retorted as nastily as he could. 

          As usual, his best efforts at sarcasm had no effect whatsoever on Lupin. The werewolf looked thoughtful, tapping his chin gently with his wind. His brown eyes were fixed on a green acorn lying obliviously between them.

          "There's something I've been meaning to say," he remarked softly, as if to himself. A moment of silence followed.

          "What?" Draco asked finally, unable to repress his curiosity. 

          Lupin looked up at him, soft brown eyes seeming to shine faintly. "You know, I don't see things like other people do. It's inevitable, I suppose... living a strange double existence like this, one experiences life differently. Everyone believes, of course, that you are unsalvageable, a young soul tragically lost to the Dark Powers. Hateful, nonetheless. Despicable, rather, black-hearted, cruel, ruthless, pitiless, and yes, evil. Your actions point to that conclusion quite clearly. I could never quite believe it myself."

          Draco's mouth was dry as a desert, and he could feel his face burning with a similar heat. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want pity and understanding – they would only complicate things for him from here on. He had an urge to cover his ears, but his hands refused to move from where they gripped his knees tensely.

          "I didn't believe it," Lupin continued, "And I don't now. For all your show of bloodthirstiness and your merciless tongue, you're just a kid like any other, in more difficult circumstances than most, doing the best he can. I have to admit, I've grown rather fond of you."

          Draco felt numbed by white shock. _Kid? Rather fond?_ He was quite sure he had never heard those words referring to him before. He wouldn't even say _he_ was fond of himself. 

          "In fact, I..." Lupin trailed off softly. 

          They stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed with realization. 

          Then a bolt of colossal power touched Draco, and everything disappeared.

          Lupin gazed uncertainly at the spot where Draco had just been, hands gripping his wand tightly. In front of him floated a human-shaped cloud of jet-black dust. It collapsed rapidly, scattering and thinning through the spring air, an unpleasant shadow melting away under the sun.

          Feverishly, he recalled an old textbook he had read in Advanced Charms. What had it said about the Amores Despiso spell?

          _When the spell is used to summon a lost person, a residue of magic remains in the place the body occupied for approximately 2.4 seconds after disappearance. If the relationship is one of love or affection, the residue takes the form of a golden mist. If the relationship is unfavourable, a puff of black dust remains instead._

          It had been something like that, he was sure. And if his guess was right, the circumstances had taken an odd turn. 

          The spell had been meant to call _Harry_! What had gone wrong? Had Voldemort made a mistake? Or was he planning revenge on Draco? Or... Draco had said his mother would probably be one of the Deatheaters performing the spell. Had Narcissa Malfoy taken a hand in the game? Was it purposeful, or mere accident? And hadn't Draco told him on the first day that he had a week to find Ginny? Accordingly, there should be at least two days left... or had Voldemort changed his plans? When Draco had gone missing, had the Dark Lord suspected his strayed disciple might reveal the plot? He wondered why he hadn't considered the possibility before.    

          In any case, Draco was now doubtlessly in the hands of the Deatheaters. Whom he had essentially betrayed. Voldemort's followers were hardly known for their forgiving natures. 

          Worse, if the spell was already in motion, that meant Voldemort could be summoning Harry to Azkaban that very moment. Harry could already be there, for all Lupin knew. And Ginny...

          Lupin stood up decidedly and patted his pocket to make sure the second wand was still there. He would need it for what he had in mind. He gave his own wand a light _swish_ and _flick_ and called one word.

          "_Apparatus_!"

A/N: Gasp! What was Lupin going to tell Draco? Why did the spell call Draco? What can Lupin do with two wands? Chapter 6: Azkaban gets very crowded, Ginny is surprisingly popular, Voldemort feels the need to chastise a Deatheater, Ginny and Draco are in an uncomfortable situation, and Lupin shows his stuff. 


	6. More Than One Life

Disclaimer: Characters and situations are property of JK Rowling. This is an unauthorized fanfiction. I am receiving no money for it. 

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers! I love your comments! Now, as this odd little fic draws towards its end, everyone is in trouble, Lupin is the double-wanded man, Ginny is a goddess, Moody receives compensation for being made riddikulus, Draco finds himself in an embarrassing situation, and Voldemort's secret plans may or may not be fulfilled. 

MORE THAN ONE LIFE

          _"We'll have to hunt them down. I'll call the Guild immediately and have them throw together a squad – "_

_          "No! I mean, Mr. Minister, I believe that action is premature."_

_          "Premature? Premature, Mr. Black? An inside agent of the Intelligence Agency runs off with a wanted Deatheater and you call a search party premature?"_

_          "Search party, my...! You mean to send out the hit-wizards."_

_          "I'm afraid I do, Mr. Black, and I have every justification to do so. Mr. Lupin has proven himself a traitor beyond doubt. He must be stopped, now."_

_          "With all due respect, Remus Lupin is no traitor. Despite the circumstances, I am telling you that this isn't what it seems. Remus has a plan of some sort... a plan to save Ginny Weasley... something he thought too risky to tell anyone about."_

_          "I find that highly unlikely. Mr. Lupin has a questionable history, as you well know. What about the Fletcher affair – when was it, a year ago? Lupin spirited a suspected traitor away from the Unspeakables. Now he's done it again, but this isn't just a suspect. We're talking about Draco Malfoy, THE Draco Malfoy here!"_

_          "Allow me to point out that Remus was right about Fletcher. The man was innocent. MIA proved it."_

_          "Are you telling me you think Malfoy is innocent, Mr. Black?"_

_          "No... I mean... of course not, but that doesn't mean Remus is guilty!"_

_          "I'm afraid I don't follow you."_

_          "No? Allow me to simplify the situation for you, Mr. Minister! I think Remus is planning a rescue. Somehow he's using Malfoy to get to Ginny."_

_          "Alone? Without backup? Without even telling anyone?"_

_          "Well, Remus was a Gryffindor, you know..."_

_          "I doubt this is a case of incredible bravery, Mr. Black. In fact, I find it much more likely that Malfoy is using Lupin to get back to his Deatheater chums. A werewolf is a Dark Creature, after all. He is more susceptible to temptation than humans..."_

_          "You're implying that Remus isn't human?! Well, I... I... you listen here! Remus Lupin is more humane than most people I know! If he has a fault it's a soft heart. There isn't a man less likely to be a traitor in the wizarding world!"_

_          "I'm aware of your friendship with Lupin, but this is just ridiculous! That... creature has finally shown himself for what he is – Dark. Countless innocents have died because of Draco Malfoy, and your friend Lupin has just made himself an accomplice to all that. He will be found – they both will be – and punished as they deserve."_

_          "I won't stand here listening to you insult a man far better than you will ever be!"_

_          "Mr. Black, you are out of line!"_

_           "And you're a thick-headed, petty, biased fool!"_

_          "Mr. Black! I will not tolerate this!... Security!"_

_          "Hey, you... you can't! Get your hands off me! I won't be manhandled! Fudge! Don't do this! You're making a mistake!"_

_          "No, Mr. Black, it's you who are mistaken here. So mistaken, in fact, that I don't believe you can continue to function effectively as an agent of the Ministry. I'm stripping you of your office. Agent Moody will take your place and take the appropriate measures to hunt down Malfoy and Lupin. I suggest you take some time off and get your priorities straight."_

_          "Damn you!"_

*******

Lupin fell to his knees on the gravely beach, biting back a yelp as the rocks dugs into his knees. He huddled in the greyness, sluggish waves nodding against his feet, as the familiar sights and smells and feelings of Azkaban assaulted him. 

It wasn't a pretty place, the island of the Wizards' Prison. Long years of habitation by Dementors had sucked the vitality out of the land, leaving a cold rock that protruded starkly from the icy ocean. Stony beaches sloped out of the waves, rearing up to a crooked black plateau crowned with a fortress lightless as vacuum. It was empty now, but misery and despair clung to the place like a venomous green mist. As Lupin looked up at the former prison, shivers of horror crawled down his spine, stealing away warmth and hope until he felt like an icy, wrung-out rag. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn back, turn away, leave now before it was too late and he froze into but another unfeeling stone. 

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet, blinking owlishly into the dank mist. He could see like a cat – or a wolf – in the dark, but this fog baffled even him, choking the sharp senses he had come to rely on. The old prison loomed blackly some distance away, a hole in the greyness, but he could make out little else. 

But wait... there _was_ something else. Not a shape, more like a glow. A strange, sparkling golden light filtered through the thick fog, dancing down from the foot of the prison. Although he couldn't make out its source, Lupin was quite sure it was residue from the Amores Despiso spell that had drawn Draco here and, indirectly, drawn him as well. 

Hardening his will, he glided almost soundlessly through the mist, stepping quickly on the uneven footing. He had to hurry, he knew, or it would all be over before he got there, but he couldn't help sweeping the ground searchingly with his eyes as he walked. If there was even a chance...

There! As if by coincidence, the thing he had been looking for materialized out of the mist. Before his feet lay a large rock, twisted into a shape unpleasantly reminiscent of a Dementor's claw. Feeling oddly dream-like, Lupin crouched down and heaved the stone out of the way. An hourglass lay beneath it, glimmering golden like buried treasure. A Time Turner, about as long as his hand. He picked it up carefully, noting the exquisite workmanship and the tiny dial at the base where one could set it to the appropriate date. It was strange, to think that after so many years the past had reared its head once again, and at the very same time a solution had presented itself. Today, perhaps, he could make good the mistakes he had made. He could go back to the very beginning and change everything... 

Thrusting the Time Turner around his neck, he sprang back to his feet and began to run tirelessly through the fog, up towards the glowering fortress and the powdery light. 

*******

"You have made a mistake."

The voice, so dreadfully familiar, forced its way into Draco's head. He squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly, refusing to look, refusing to believe that after all the doubts and the running and the fear he had come back here, to grovel at the feet of the Dark Lord and wish he were dead. Although, he admitted blearily to himself, that wish would probably be fulfilled sooner than he would like. Not that dying was the problem – he just didn't want to die like this, sprawled helplessly on the rocky ground, bound like a fish in a net of magic, a net that had caught not only him but that hated, red-haired child for whose sake he had been forced into this situation. 

That hated, red-haired child to whom magic had called him, and who was speaking in his head at that very moment. 

_You're not Harry,_ she said in his mind, sounding more surprised than afraid.

_Congratulations, Weasley, you've found the one bright spot in this whole situation,_ he hissed back despite himself. He could feel numb shock coming from her, invading his mind, violating his private misery.

_What do you have to be miserable about?_ Ginny asked crossly.

_I'm going to die,_ he snapped back, _and so are you. Why shouldn't I be miserable?_

_You're one of them,_ she said, _they won't kill you._

He laughed silently. _They'll kill me. I ran away. I'm not the golden boy Deatheater anymore. We're both dead, Weasley, but at least I might get to watch you die before me._

_Shut up, you git,_ she said stubbornly, _I'm not going to die._

He wished he could roll his eyes mentally. Listening to Voldemort was better than this. It was only when Voldemort spoke again that he realized that wasn't true. The Dark Lord, however, wasn't addressing him. 

"You have compromised my plans, Narcissa," the hissing voice said somewhere above and behind him. 

"I... Lord, I... it was an accident. The strands were so close together... I summoned the wrong one..." 

Narcissa. His mother. He had as good as known that she would be here, of course, but that did not stop his stomach from roiling in a brew of mixed emotions. He didn't want to see her. More than anyone else, more even than Voldemort, she filled him with fear and worse, uncertainty. Even now, confronting the Dark Lord's displeasure, her voice was cool and ruthless, sharp as a mid-winter icicle. 

_Why does she scare you?_ Ginny asked. Draco ignored her studiously. 

"Accident? You lie, as always. Perhaps the temptation was too much for you... the desire to repossess your son. No matter. I have other servants who will not fail me as you have. They can easily take your place."

He could feel Ginny's fear and smiled inwardly with ruthless pleasure. Voldemort's threats, even when directed at someone else, were enough to make anyone tremble. 

"No! Lord, you have no servant more loyal than I! I will not fail again... we still have time. The spell is still working. I will bring the Potter boy here! I wished only to please you, Lord! Now you will have both Potter and this traitor!"

_Traitor?_ Ginny murmured wonderingly. 

"Of course, you were thinking only of my welfare when you summoned your son. Touching, Narcissa, false as it is." 

Draco could not help shuddering at the icy irony in Voldemort's tone. If he opened his eyes, he was sure he would see cracked frozen scales, dripping with slimy beads of poison. He stared, paralysed, at the blackness behind his eyelids, wishing he could close his ears as well. 

_I'm scared too,_ Ginny said weakly. 

_Shut up,_ he snapped, _I'm not scared._ He knew she didn't believe him. He couldn't lie to her, not like this. 

"I think always of your welfare, Lord. My every action and thought is yours."

"Oh? We will see. After you bring Potter here, I will see to your son. Perhaps I will finish him myself... but I think I will leave that to you. It shouldn't bother you – the Malfoys are hardly famous for affectionate family relations. But I may find it amusing, if you kill him in an... original manner. Pray that I do, Narcissa. You do not wish to displease me, I am sure."

_Oh no,_ Ginny whispered, _oh, Harry._

It was somehow bitter, Draco thought, that even when he was threatened with a horrific death, no one at all bothered to mourn him. 

_You actually care?_ Ginny asked in surprise. He didn't answer, because at that moment his mother spoke, and he felt his stomach twist in anger and, strangely, a profound betrayal deeper than any he had ever known. 

"No, Lord. I will do as you command, of course."

"Then finish the spell! Bring me Potter!"

After that, only silence reigned in Draco's ears, until the screams began.

*******

The wards hadn't detected him. For once, Lupin thanked the stars that he was a Dark Creature. It had finally come in handy, though that probably wouldn't save his life if he failed. 

He peered cautiously around the black boulder, surveying the area from an easy crouch. It was a strange, misty tableau playing out before his eyes, a grotesque drama peopled by furtive actors miming blindly under insufficient illumination. The ground sloped up to the craggy prison, a forlorn road wandering up to the gates. Before the decrepit iron doors, a circle of wizards stood, facing grimly towards a lonely figure in its centre.

It was Ginny, he realized with a painful lump in his throat. Tied to a rough wooden chair, she languished in the circle like a sacrifice about to be offered. Black cords wound around her arms and legs like a giant spider's web, digging into white skin bared were her robes had ripped away. Her head lolled drunkenly to the side, red hair cascading limply over her face. Still, he could see her eyes, wide-open, staring raptly at nothing. Her expression was that of a woman who looks up to find a tidal wave crashing down on her. And, strangest of all, golden light surrounded her, radiating out as if she were a human sun, or a golden goddess with myriad arms. Black strands curled among the gold, but the latter colour was prevalent by far. The Deatheaters making up the circle might have been pagan worshippers and she a wild lady of a spirit world – had it not been for the wand each witch or wizard pointed firmly at the ground beneath her feet. Weak streams of light flowed from the wands, pooling in a black and gold spotlight under the chair. 

Tearing his eyes away from Ginny, Lupin glanced around the circle. He recognized no one; deep cowls shadowed the Deatheaters' faces. Two figures, however, were unmistakable. They stood inside the circle, at the side closest to him: a slender, graceful woman and a tall, uncomfortably snake-like man wreathed in pure black. The first was doubtlessly Narcissa Malfoy. The second...

Voldemort.

Lupin repressed the fears that gibbered in the back of his mind and pricked his ears as the woman spoke, her voice calm despite the subservient nature of the words.

"No, Lord. I will do as you command, of course." 

The tall figure seemed to loom over her even more, an air of tension hanging around it, as if it were a cobra about to strike. Its voice, when it spoke, sounded like dead leaves crackling in the wind, the laughter of thousands of murdered madmen. 

"Then finish the spell! Bring me Potter!"

Narcissa bowed her head, and Lupin caught a glimpse of blonde hair within the cowl. Then she turned back to Ginny, rubbing her wand gently against her robe as if to clean it. 

It was then that Lupin noticed the final player in the scene. A few feet before Narcissa, a crumpled figure lay slumped on the ground. He didn't need to see the telltale towhead and the pallid arms marred only by the death's head to know that it was Draco. The boy's eyes were closed; he looked like an experienced traveller on the road to death, bloodless, stringy, limp, exhausted. His limbs sprawled unnaturally around him, white shirt and grey pants making him look ashen and washed out on the black ground. And strangest of all, a thin black aura hovered around him, condensing to a narrow thread that led back to Ginny. The spell, connecting the two of them. 

Narcissa stepped around her prone son without so much as a glance downward, making gracefully for Ginny, wand in hand. It was, Lupin decided suddenly, time to act. 

He drew the extra wand out of his pocket and placed it end to end with his own. Bending his head, he whispered, "_Auto pensidium mobilius!"_

The wand glowed white briefly, then shot out of his hands, zooming with a vengeance toward the circle of Deatheaters. A burst of light shot out of it, hurtling with dizzying speed to strike one of the cowled figures. The Deatheater shrieked and stumbled out of the circle, dropping his wand. The others jerked out of their formation, following the attacking wand with their own, and total chaos broke out of its cage to rampage the island of Azkaban. 

"An ambush!" someone shouted. Suddenly the fog seemed full of movement, as Deatheaters dashed after the flying wand. Only Voldemort and Narcissa remained motionless where they were. Lupin had hoped the distraction would affect them as well; but if not, he would just have to work around it. 

Lupin was about to leap from his hiding place and dash to Ginny's side, when one of the random spells cast by the flying wand barrelled into the magic thread connecting the girl to Draco, and everything was blinded by a searing flash of light. 

*******

At the first shriek, Draco snapped his eyes open unwillingly. Vague shapes moved in the fog around him, dissolving and reappearing like timid shadows. Before him the black cord stretched out to Ginny. He had a sudden urge to bite it, tear it into pieces, anything to get the girl out of his head. 

_I'm not exactly happy about this either,_ Ginny retorted, _what's going on?_

Before he could make any sort of reply, a flash of indistinct light zoomed across his field of vision. The sight of the flash connecting with the thread between him and Ginny barely registered before the mist turned to a molten golden-black and magic seared through his veins. 

He screamed aloud, hardly hearing Ginny's voice echoing his own, and jerked up to a sitting position. The world swam before his eyes as he stared numbly down at his arms. Countless wavering threads curled around him, identical to the one that had connected him to Ginny. But, he realized without knowing quite what it meant, not all of them were black. In fact, the majority was golden.  

He glanced blearily at Ginny. She sat stiff as a board on the chair, back arched, eyes huge and wide as she stared back at him. Her hair tumbled in matted tangles around her face, framing an expression as shocked as he knew his own must be. The web of light... the strands of magic that had radiated out from her before now reached for him like a hundred hands, winding around him and pulling at him mercilessly. 

As he watched hazily, the magical cords that bound Ginny to the chair dropped away limply, rendered useless by the storm of magic raging around the two of them. The Amores Despiso web seemed to tighten, and suddenly they were both on their feet, rushing helplessly at each other. 

Everything else seemed to melt away as they crashed into each other's arms. Draco was only aware of a storm of feelings, alternating hatred and love coming from some source outside of him, washing over him like wave after wave of pitiless sea. He dug his hands into her hair, painfully aware that he could not stop himself no matter how much he wanted to. She pressed herself against him angrily, their arms tangling, bodies trembling, lips meeting and fleeing without an ounce of control. 

_I hate you,_ Draco thought miserably, not sure if he was trying to kiss her or bite her, hug her or kill her.

_No, you don't,_ she answered even more miserably, _you love me._

_Magic,_ he mumbled mentally, _it's all magic. All Voldemort's work. _

_Doesn't matter,_ she said dully, _it's all the same. I think... I think... I love you..._

_No, Gin – Weasley! _he shouted only half-coherently, _Damn you! Only magic! It's not real!_

_Doesn't matter,_ she repeated, _I love you._

And, helpless, he found himself answering in a broken voice he hardly recognized as his own, _I love you, love you, love you, love you..._

*******

Lupin stumbled forward as the light began to fade, blinking rapidly. "Ginny!" he called, heedless of discovery. The Deatheaters were still there, he knew, in their broken circle, hidden by the shining mist. But for the moment they couldn't see him, and this moment might be all he would get. 

"Ginny!" he called again, then after a moment added, "Draco!" 

He stumbled over something. Looking down, he realized it was the chair Ginny had been tied to, empty now. He glanced around quickly. A shape seemed to thicken in the fog before him. He squinted, and when he realized what he was looking at his eyes flew open. 

Draco and Ginny stood there, tangled in an embrace, staring at each other like sightless lovers who had been unblinded and now saw each other for the first time. 

"Ginny...?" Lupin asked uncertainly, "Draco...?"

Both heads turned to look at him, and two pairs of eyes gazed at him with identically wild expressions. He could see the high flush on Draco's cheekbones, and Ginny's freckles standing out starkly against her pale face. Strands of hair, red and gold, tangled like bloodstained sunshine. It was only then that he realized that the light had faded, the magic had disappeared, and the grey fog was back, leeching the colour out of everything except the two young people frozen before him. 

And not only that. Coldness washed over him suddenly, as if he had been doused with freezing water. He was vaguely aware of Ginny's gasp and Draco's sudden, fearful movement. He shivered reflexively, knowing what it meant. They were trapped on that grey, drab rock of misery, and the Dementors had come. 

They materialized as if by magic, dark shapes becoming all too distinct. A new circle formed, enclosing him and Draco and Ginny. His sharp eyesight picked out the tattered shrouds, glimpses of slimy grey flesh like that of a long-drowned corpse. All his courage and determination seemed to seep out of him, leaving only hollow emptiness and cowering fear behind. He stood, frozen, his wand forgotten in his hand, and watched the Dementors approach, step by step by step...

"This, Narcissa, is most displeasing," a voice said, sending more chills down Lupin's spine. Behind Draco and Ginny, a too-tall figure loomed blackly out of the mist, a slender shadow at his side. Both stepped forward, becoming all too visible. 

"Voldemort," Lupin whispered. The dread writhing in his stomach deepened, until he wondered how he managed to remain on his feet at all. 

The Dark Lord's head, hidden by the deep cowl, turned towards him. His knees felt weak; it was like standing in a black spotlight on a summer day. 

"Whoever you are," Voldemort said, "You have destroyed a very carefully laid plan. Since you know who I am, I'm sure you know what will happen to you now." The Dark Lord hissed something in a language Lupin didn't understand, and suddenly two Dementors glided forward out of the circle.

Lupin watched numbly as the creatures drew closer to him, dreadfully fascinated by the filthy, frayed material of their robes and deep blackness within their hoods. With each step he could feel a wet blanket of horror tightening around him, sapping away his strength. He felt small and cold. Somehow, it didn't seem worthwhile to fight any longer... nothing mattered, all was misery anyway and he was going to die, they were all going to die. Blackness gathered at the corners of his mind, voices whispering out of the night. Memories slithered out of their dark caves: sharp fangs and dank breath in his face, the moon falling on his writhing skin, a bloody corpse at his side...

 Suddenly, a flame seemed to kindle in him, burning with painful life. No, he had come here on a mission. He would not fail; his hands were bloody enough without adding more deaths to the list. Anger flamed up in him, obscuring the fear. Rage sustained him; he clung to it, drawing strength from it. He would not be foiled, not today. He had found Ginny and Draco, and nothing was going to stop him now – not Dementors, not even Voldemort himself. 

He dove into the wells of memory, deep, deep where the Dementors had not yet reached, and pulled up an image long left to gather dust. Sunshine penetrated through the fog in his mind, and a well-known face smiled at him. They were all there – James, Sirius, Lily, Chryseis, Mundungus, Arabella, even Peter... all there, smiling at him with perfect confidence. 

Gripping the memory, Lupin raised his wand. "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

A storm of silver light burst out of the wand, hurtling towards the Dementors with a tremendous flapping of wings and bunching of muscles. A graceful griffin, apparently made of pure moonlight, flew like an arrow into the circle, severing the net of horror cast by the Dementors. The creatures shrieked and turned away, stumbled in their haste to escape. 

Without so much as another glance at the Dementors, Lupin turned back to Voldemort, all fear forgotten.  

"I am Remus Lupin," he said calmly, glaring defiantly at the Dark Lord, "And someday I will make you pay for all this. For the Potters, for Sirius and Mundungus, for the Longbottoms and even the Malfoys – I promise you, you will pay."

And before either Narcissa or Voldemort could so much as blink, he cast the Time Turner's golden chain around Ginny and Draco and flipped the hourglass once. The last thing he saw was the Dark Lord's hand lifting in angry surprise, before the world faded to grey around him. 

*******

Some time later – although it was hard to count time when Time Turners were in question – Lupin, Draco, and Ginny sat silently in the forest somewhere in England. It was the same spot where Lupin and Draco had talked at sunrise that day. No one spoke now. Ginny and Draco sat in mute shock, eyes fixed on each other. A few feet away, Lupin examined the Time Turner carefully, oblivious to everything except the little golden hourglass. 

He had never really considered it before. What could be done with a Time Turner... he had simply accepted the past, painful as it was. But now, somehow... he was an outlaw anyway, an exile from the wizarding world. Perhaps the Ministry would not hold him a traitor, since he had saved Ginny, but he doubted they would give him his job back. And she had been on his mind lately, since he had told Draco about her... 

He could be careful, after all. He wasn't a fool – no one would see him. And she had died anyway, so it would make no difference in the flow of time. The only difference would be for her, and for him. 

Lupin's hands closed decisively on the Time Turner and he stood up, glancing down at his two charges briefly. 

"Ginny," he said quietly, "I will be back directly to see you home. Will you be alright without me for a moment?"

Ginny didn't answer, but he took her silence as an affirmative answer. 

"Draco..." he said. The boy looked up at him, eyes bright and grey, somehow different than they had been. A current of understanding passed between them, and Lupin did not speak again. Instead, he pulled out his wand and, with a murmur, Apparated away. 

The Shrieking Shack was much as he remembered it. The doors and windows tightly boarded and charmed... broken, dusty furniture strewn about... the air thick and grey, ancient if no longer haunted as it had been when he had spent his full moons there. Cobwebs crowded every corner, indistinct in the dim light. The air was heavy with silence. It had been long since the screams had sounded here.

Hoping profoundly that enough Wolfsbane remained in his blood to be potent, Lupin dialled the date into the Time Turner and flipped the hourglass before he could change his mind. 

_Today,_ he thought as greyness enveloped him, _I save more than one life._

A/N: Well, what do you think? For some reason I'm bloody proud of this chapter. Voldemort's lines are kind of iffy and the Draco/Ginny stuff was rather cheesy and hurried, though. I chose a griffin as Lupin's Patronus mostly because griffins are my favourite mythical animal, but also because the half-bird, half-cat nature of a griffin seemed sort of parallel to Lupin's own duality. Somehow I couldn't picture him having a wolf Patronus... since the wolf is something he dreads and endures, not loves. Next (and last) chapter: Draco and Ginny decide what to do about their newfound relationship, Lupin finds his lost love and makes a very surprising discovery. More romance, ack... 


	7. Nothing To Say

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and situations are property of J.K. Rowling and publishers, not Maura Mellon. 

NOTHING TO SAY

          _  
"So… what do we do now?"_

_"Shut up, Weasley."_

_"I won't. Don't tell me what to do, you slimeball! We have to talk about it… we have to…"_

_"I'm a Malfoy. We do as we please. Now shut up before I hex you."_

_"I will NOT shut up! And you won't hex me. I can read your thoughts, remember? Don't scowl at me like that, it's childish. You're just in denial. You're a coward, you just can't deal with it, can you, you – Slytherin!"_

_"Weasley, if you're going to talk, you might at least try being coherent. Do you really think being called a Slytherin is an insult to me?"_

_"But I thought…"_

_"Like I believe that!... Oh, come on… you're not crying, are you? How embarrassing. But really… no, don't. Stop."_

_"I'm not."_

_"You're lying. Do you actually care? You care about some… curse… Voldemort's bloody…"_

_"Can't help caring.__ You know it, too. I can feel it. Right now."_

_"I'm leaving."_

_"No! I… well… but what about… Lupin! What about Professor Lupin?"_

_"What about him?"_

_"He cares about you, too. You're just going to leave without talking to him."_

_"Exactly."___

_"But that's… wrong!"_

_"You Gryffindors are so tiring, with your moralizing all the time. Honestly, what's so wrong about it?"_

_"He CARES about you, it's obvious! He wouldn't want you to go, he'd want to talk to you again. And… I care about you."_

_"Weasley, a half hour ago you hated me. You still hate me. I hate you. It's all much easier and much more convenient that way. Think about it reasonably, if you're capable. Suppose we stopped hating each other. Then what? I'm a fugitive. The whole world is after my blood. What, you think I can go back to the Ministry and ask for a pardon? And then come back to Hogwarts and everything will be handy-dandy just like in one of your stupid daydreams? Or maybe you want to come with me… it'll be fabulous, a one-time Deatheater and a lovesick girl, living in secretive squalor until I'm killed of by one of the many parties hunting me and you're taken back to where you belong. Sound like a plan?"_

_"No."_

_"Well, there you go. Brilliant, Weasley."_

_"My name's Ginny."_

_"And mine's Cuddilicious Carebear. Who gives a fuck. I'm Apparating out of here."_

_"But…"_

_"You've got nothing to say, and you know it."_

_"What about Professor Lupin?"_

_"Like I said, what about him? If it makes you happy, take him a message from me. Tell him… tell him… on second thoughts, tell him nothing. I've got nothing to say either. Cheers."_

_"No, Draco, wait! WAIT, Draco! Draco… bloody hell, why don't I know how to Apparate? Oh, Draco, what about the spell, what am I supposed to tell them all, how can I explain…?"_

          Lupin coughed quietly, getting the last of the dust out of his throat. He had brought it with him from the… future (he thought the word with a touch of wry amusement). There was no dust here now. The Shrieking Shack's furnishing lay in slightly more recognizable shreds around him, but it was clean. It was in use. 

          Ironically, he was in the upstairs bedroom, the same one where he had met Sirius again after those fourteen years, the one where Peter had finally been revealed, and the depths of treachery brought to light. Coincidence, or was his subconscious playing with him? Perhaps the wolf in his head had some odd affection for this place. He couldn't think why, but there it was. 

          The bedroom floated in deceptive peace, the last rays of the setting sun lighting the dust motes dancing through the air. Only a few moments now... the moon was already up, and as soon as the sun set he would begin to Change. But first, there was something he had to decide: where to put his wand. It was crucial that no one besides himself, this version of himself, got their hands on it. Although... he wondered what would happen if he just didn't go back. Might he not stay, undetected, and save not only Chryseis but James and Lily? Could he not warn the Ministry beforehand of all the unforeseen calamities that had befallen them over the years? He could make good so many mistakes, so much suffering...

          But no. It was impossible, and even in his daydreams he was aware of that. You couldn't manipulate reality that way; it would only cause problems in the future worse than anything that existed there now. Besides, someone would likely notice two Remus Lupin's running around, one noticeably older than the other. 

          Dismissing his wishful thoughts, Lupin took a hold of the windowsill next to the bed and pulled himself up so he could see the curtain that held the bar up. He felt somewhat nervous about showing himself in the window this way, but this was the side of the house that faced away from Hogsmeade. Without further deliberation, he shoved his wand into the folds of the curtain where it bunched up around the bar.

          Jumping down with an ephemeral feeling of satisfaction, he dusted off his hands and realized he could see in the dark. And dark it was, now... truly dark. He was still looking at his hands when they started to Change. He closed them quickly. It still bothered him sometimes, after all these years—the sight of himself, of his own, familiar body turning into something that did not obey his will, at least not without the aid of a magic potion. 

          In that moment he heard a terrible sound from downstairs.

          "Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

          Shivers ran down Lupin's spine. It was the eeriest thing he had ever heard in all his years as an Auror, teacher, man, and werewolf. It was the sound of his own voice, screaming in merciless agony. It was his past self, his young self—down there facing the Change, unaware of the far more painful events in store for him that night. 

          And inside his own, more experienced breast the same shriek was welling. It did every time, like a black octopus from the depths of a stagnant sea, ready to choke him. But he had grown, he was no longer the poor boy downstairs who cried until his throat bled. He had learned to control those screams, to rein in the pain, as he was doing now. 

          The Change was as painful as it had always been, and always would be. But it did not frighten him anymore. And he had more important things to think about. 

          He knew more from the fading screams downstairs than from his own body that the transformation was complete. Silence descended.

_My name is..._

With a warm glow of relief, Lupin realized that he could think. He knew he existed; he was conscious. There was enough potion remaining in his bloodstream from yesterday (yesterday?) to allow him to keep his sanity for this task.

_My name is Remus Lupin._

 He felt as if he was waiting for something. In that moment, perhaps, the full magnitude of what he had done and was planning to do hit him. He was going to change history. He was going to modify reality until it pleased him. The act seemed like... a rape of nature. But then, what wasn't in this world of humans and their ambition?

          He padded softly across the room, a wolf with a golden hourglass around its neck, and nosed open the door. He could smell the other werewolf, his other self. It was one of the most disturbing things he had ever experienced. Judging by the silence, the beast—he could not truly think of it as himself—had scented him as well, and was confused. Lupin knew from experience that confusion tended to frustrate werewolves, and frustration tended to make them angry. Of course, he had come here expecting to have to fight. Just not now... not until Chryseis got here. 

          He didn't know when that would be, but decided to make his way downstairs anyway. There was no point in putting off the inevitable. It never crossed Lupin's mind that in an encounter with his younger self he might be defeated—he, after all, was the one with the reasoning mind. Besides, he knew his own weaknesses, whereas the other Lupin-werewolf would be fighting what he thought was an unknown opponent. He slipped, silent as the non-existent ghosts this shack was famous for, down the stairs. They led to an empty, battered room—what might at one time have been a den. There was a door on the wall opposite him. And there was something concealed in the shadowed corner by the wall. He could see the eyes—his own eyes—glowing as they glared at him, sizing him up, trying to decide what he was and whether he should be attacked.

          In his mind, Lupin laughed at the absurdity of what he had undertaken to do. 

          _Hello_, he said silently. 

          A low growl elicited from the corner. Lupin felt rather sorry for himself, or his other self. He was glad no memory of this would last beyond first light. He contemplated, scientifically, the best way to put his opponent out of the action. 

          Lupin's muscles bunched in preparation to spring.

          _Sorry_, he murmured to himself, and leaped.

          At the same moment, the werewolf in the corner flashed out of hiding. He was fast, as fast, naturally, as Lupin himself. Fangs and fur collided in mid-air, springing away immediately. Both wolves landed on their feet, facing each other with teeth bared. One would not have been able to tell them apart, save for the silver strands around the muzzle of one. The older one. 

          But in the battle they melted together like one entity, a tiny hurricane of deadly purpose. A human eye could not have followed the lighting snaps, the flickering feet, the flashing eyes. There in the Shrieking Shack, Remus Lupin fought himself as he had on so many other occasions in his life, in a struggle no less desperate than any he had experienced. And if he became the demon to match the demon, he did not regret or dwell on it. If the irony of it struck him, it did not affect his concentration. 

          All of a sudden one of the wolves broke away with a howl, blood streaming from his muzzle. The other growled and advanced, crouched like a spring. The wounded one cast a glance at his adversary and fled, claws scrabbling on the smooth floor. He dashed blindly for the stars as blood ran into his eyes. The other followed with calm deliberation, driving the weaker. Up the staircase they raced one after the other, the wood groaning as they passed. At the top the wounded one paused for but a split second, as if deliberating, then hurtled at breakneck speed through another doorway. There he turned, cornered, and snarled with all the menace he could muster. 

          But his pursuer did not follow. For a moment the trapped wolf stood still, confusion seeping into his mind. Then the door slammed shut and clicked. The wolf hurled himself against it to no avail. It refused to budge. 

          Lupin turned his back on the young werewolf trapped behind a door held shut, with the aid of human reason, by a chair. It had been pure luck that he had spotted the discarded chair in the upstairs hall, and he had not been sure he could wedge the back under the doorknob well enough. Shivers wracked him and his fur stood on end as he thought of the chances required to make the plan work; but instinct had prevailed and succeeded. His trusted that his young counterpart would not be able to break out, not until morning at least. If not...

          All his thoughts faded instantly as the downstairs door creaked softly, opening with almost imperceptible complaint into the room.

          Lupin crouched on the stairwell, watching with keen eyes as moonlight crept through the open doorway and, wreathed in its silver light, a long-lost and well-remembered figure slipped into the room. 

          She was as beautiful as he remembered—how could he ever forget that face, pale, haughty, unique? He tensed, forcing himself to keep from running to sweep her up in his arms, arms which he of course did not have. He wanted to call to her, but all that came from his throat was an almost inaudible whine. She did not notice it. 

_          Chryseis._

          "Remus?" she whispered into the stillness. 

          He restrained himself. This was the tricky part. He had to communicate with her somehow, without frightening her. Not that Chryseis Malfoy was terribly easy to intimidate, but a werewolf was too much for most wizards or witches, and she was young. Lupin crept softly down the stairs, watching the slender shape outlined in the doorway. Chryseis hesitated a moment, then stepped out of the moonlight into the shadows of the room.

          "Remus?" she said again, more firmly this time, "I know you're in here. Don't even try to hide from me. I want to know what's going—"

          She stopped with a gasp and Lupin froze, equally surprised, as another human figure blocked the moonlight. It was a young man, tall and thin, with the same pale hair as Chryseis and the same proud bearing. 

          "Lucius!" Chryseis said at the same moment that Lupin growled the name in his mind. 

          _Lucius__ Malfoy! What was that git doing here? _

          "Indeed," Lucius said, and suddenly there was a wand in his hand, a wand pointed steadily at his sister. 

          "What are you doing, you arrogant fool?" Chryseis said. Lupin would have winced. She had never had any tact. 

          "The question is, what are you doing? And don't bother answering—I already know. You've come here to rendez-vous with your lover. A Gryffindor. More than that—a friend of the Potters. Do you know what that means?"

          "Don't use that tone with me, Lucius. I'm your sister, not one of your mindless followers." 

          "No. All the better, then. The Dark Lord won't miss you, any more than I shall."

          "Dark Lord?" Chryseis sneered audibly, "what, you mean that famous Riddle character of yours? Don't be ridiculous! He's a loony. It's a shame you've degraded the name Malfoy by consorting with him."

          "Oh, it isn't I who have degraded the name of Malfoy! I, Chryseis, will lead our family to a new glory, beyond anything you could ever envision. It's a pity, really, that you won't be there to see it..."

          Chryseis backed away, wary now, deeper into the shadows. Lucius pivoted, keeping his wand trained on her. Lupin caught a glimpse of the smile on his face in the moonlight. He felt sick. What kind of man would threaten—would kill—his own sister? Loathing welled up in him and anger even more bitter than what he had felt at Draco's mistreatment at the hands of the Ministry. No wonder the poor kid was so jaded, with a father like this... but no, he knew better now. It was Narcissa's doing, if anyone's. 

          And suddenly the significance of this dawned on him. 

          _It had been Lucius!_

          It had been Lucius Malfoy all along, Lucius who had followed his sister to the Shrieking Shack, Lucius who had confronted her, Lucius who had killed her. Not Lupin. All his guilt, all his worst memories—they were dreams, untrue, completely false. He felt elated, light as a feather. All the joy in the world bubbled up from his heart at the revelation that _he was not a killer._ He had to stop himself from leaping with happiness.

          And along with that joy came blinding fury at the true murderer. 

          Lupin shook himself out of his thoughts. Now was the time, if ever. 

          With a single bound, he launched himself at Lucius Malfoy. Lucius saw him and turned, but too slowly; the werewolf rammed into his chest, sending him sprawling and his wand flying from his hand. Lucius yelled, flailing his arms, but Lupin was careful not to bite him. It was crucial that he change as little as possible of the future, even if it meant refraining from giving Lucius Malfoy what he deserved. Besides, a werewolf Lucius would be even worse than the human. 

          Wolf and man grappled, rolling over and over, into the moonlight, back into the shadows. Lupin found himself at somewhat of a loss. He didn't want to hurt Lucius permanently, but he had to get him out of the way somehow. Luckily, Chryseis solved the matter for him.

          Lupin wrested himself away from Lucius for a moment, ready to regroup. Before he could leap again, however, a flash of light soared by his shoulder, accompanied by the shouted word, "STUPEFY!"  Lucius looked surprised, then slumped over, unconscious, revealing Chryseis standing behind him, head cocked, with a wand in her hand.

          She stared at Lupin.

          "Remus...?" she said for the third time.

          Lupin stared back, watching the recognition dawn in her eyes.

          "Well," she said matter-of-factly, folding her arms, "at least you're not cheating on me. That _is what I thought, you know. But this..." She stepped closer and knelt down beside him, her smooth brow furrowing. "Is that a Time Turner?" The confusion in her voice was palpable. "But... that doesn't make any sense... what for?"_

          There were definite drawbacks to not being able to talk, Lupin decided. It didn't help that he couldn't think properly, not with her this close... it had been so long since he had seen her... 

          But he had to tell her, somehow. He had to get her back to the future. She should have died—if she lived on in this time, he could not guess at the consequences. 

          He shook the Time Turner off. The golden thing clinked to the floor and he nudged it towards her with his paw. She picked it up, looking at him in confusion. 

          "Am I supposed to put it on? But why?"

          She shrugged impulsively and slipped the chain around her neck, holding the little hourglass in her hand. 

          "Now what?"

          Silently, Lupin asked her to forgive him. Then he jumped at her, bowling her over and ignoring her indignant shout.

          "Remus, stop! What are you trying to do?!"

          He thrust his head through the necklace so that they were both entangled in the change. Then, with a flick of his muzzle, he flipped the hourglass and everything faded to gray. 

          *******

          _"Well, Mr. Black, what do you have to say about this matter?"_

_          "I'm afraid I have little to add, Minister." _

_          "You know the man better than anyone else. Where has he gone?"_

_          "I really couldn't say..."_

_          "Come now. A werewolf, a trusted employee of the Ministry, breaks a Deatheater out of a high-security prison, finds and rescues a kidnapped girl from no less than You-Know-Who himself, somehow acquires a Time Turner, disappears into somewhere, sends back the Time Turner by owl post, and apparently disappears once more, presumably still in our time. Where is he, Black?"_

_          "The best I can guess at is... well, you know what Ginny Weasley had to say about it."_

_          "Yes... something about Lucius Malfoy's sister, who was murdered years ago. Says the Malfoy boy told her something about it before he took off. What was it... Chryseis, or something like that?"_

_          "Yes, Chryseis Malfoy. Remus loved her."_

_          "Oh, really? And do you think he might have used that Time Turner to his advantage? To bring her back?"_

_          "He was desperate, hopeless... it's what I would have done, sir."_

_          "No doubt. Bunch of nutters. Well, and what am I supposed to do now? I've got an escaped Deatheater and a traitorous werewolf at large, whereabouts unknown, along with a Class A threat to the Fabric of Time, and a wild story about time traveling, Azkaban, and Narcissa Malfoy alive and up to her usual tricks, told by a girl who seems more than a little disturbed, the poor thing. I wonder what happened to her?"_

_          "Perhaps you should ask her."_

_          "We've tried, naturally! But none of it makes sense. And she won't say a word about Draco Malfoy. Blast. We let him slip through our fingers."_

_          "It seems so, sir."_

_          "No need to be so smug, Black. Well, do you have anything else to say?"_

_          "Nothing, sir. Nothing at all."_

A/N: Well, this story is finally finished. Sorry about the last chapter not being very good, I got rather out of touch with the whole thing. At least it's done now! Thanks for reading and reviewing!  


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